The Colors of House Trevelyan
by anyawvossand
Summary: Sulwyn Trevelyan has lived most of her life in the Ostwick Circle, and has always dreamed of something more. Her resignation to sequestered, academic future is thrown into chaos when she discovers one of the templars, a young man named Reginald who's been her nemesis, isn't quite what he seems.
1. Chapter 1

The colors of house Trevelyan

_**9:36 Dragon, Harvestmere**_

Chapter 1

The leaves are turning from green to golds, reds, and oranges, and the air is cooling as the year flows gracefully from summer to autumn. I'm riding in a carriage currently, relaxing against the cushioned seat within as I gaze at the countryside slowly rolling past. Every year, Ostwick holds a harvest ball, and my family is always invited, as are the other noble families in this portion of the Free Marches. Thankfully, Ostwick's chantry has a relaxed policy when it comes to family visits, so I'm allowed to leave the circle and attend. In the company of at least two templars, of course.

I am a mage, and I came into my magic very young, at around five or six. For a long time I thought that little fairies were what made my dolls float and dance, but it was just me, wishing it to be so. Luckily I didn't cause any harm with my nascent powers, and I was delivered that year to Ostwick's circle of magi. For a lot of gifted children, the transition from home to a circle is scary – many circles are like a prison, institutional, antiseptic, and oppressive. Ostwick wasn't like that at all, plus many of my relatives had taken it upon themselves to join the templar order and serve locally. I was lucky – friendly and familiar faces were waiting for me there, and whenever I erred, my reprimands were always gentle. My childhood, though cloistered, was a happy one.

There isn't much more to say about the years between then and now, really. I made friends with the other children, and when I was older, I befriended some of the templars, though of course they had to maintain a professional distance. Despite that, it wasn't difficult to see how at least one of them, a noble young recruit, watched me with innocent longing whenever I passed by. His name was Thomas, and I liked him too, but dared not say anything. Maybe it's natural to long for something or someone you know you cannot have, and for me that's a templar. Perverse, I know.

In the spring of this year I underwent my harrowing. I, of course, can't say much about it, but it was a trial laced with temptation and anxiety. In the end I came out of it just fine, and was awarded my ring of study, which I wear even now as I ride this carriage back to my family's estate. The little thing is silver mixed with lyrium and is very pretty, wrapped around my pale, slender finger. Indeed, as I've grown older, my skin has paled, and my hair has darkened. While I used to be a fair-skinned, brown-haired child, now my skin is the color of milk, and my hair has darkened to black. My eyes, formerly brown, have lightened to something near the vibrance of autumn leaves, with golden halos around my pupils. It happens to some mages – our physical appearance can change just a little depending on how much lyrium we take, or how involved we are with our magic. Or perhaps this metamorphosis was always meant to happen. Either way, I think it looks fetching, but I'm feeling somewhat insecure about how the rest of the family will react to it.

Sitting across from me in the carriage is one of my handlers, a templar named Cecilia. While not nobility herself, Cecilia serves at the Ostwick circle, and has often taken assignments to chaperon myself and my other magically-inclined cousins on our trips back home. She's quiet and inoffensive, with short blond hair and brown eyes, and she doesn't look at us like we might burst into flames at any second. The other templar assigned to mind me, who is currently sitting up on the bench with the driver, is Reginald, who I don't care for nearly as much. With his tanned skin, black hair, and dark, sharp features, he almost looks like he was shipped her from Tevinter. He's one of the younger recruits from a noble family that has fallen from their fortunes of late. Rumor has it that unfortunate weaknesses run in their family – inclinations towards fits of anger, impulsiveness, things of that nature. Reginald's father might have maintained their standing if he hadn't risked so much on fool's errands. It's because of this that Reginald gives me a hard time – jealousy, and his position of power over me.

No matter. The harvest ball will be attended by many noble families, and even Reginald will have to be on his best behavior. That, and Cecilia already knows to keep on eye on him. Despite that fact, I nervously turn the ring on my finger as I look out the window. My travel clothes are discrete, meant to look like any other traveling noblewoman. A pair of black suede pants are tucked into my black boots, and a red tunic covers my slender torso. Black lacing keeps it fitted well, and thin, supple black leather gloves keep away the chill this far north. At least when I wear them – now they're resting on my lap. Over all of it is a black wool cloak, heavy and warm, and I keep it pulled up over my hair, which is still long and wavy. I've been meaning to cut it down to something quite short, but haven't quite dared to yet. I do have a staff, a lovely, simply thing with a slender blade at the top, but it would be gauche to bring it to a family party. Of course, the templars in the family bring their weaponry and armor to show it off, but the good people of the Free Marches aren't quite so worried that templars will murder them by turning them to solid ice.

The carriage climbs its way up the lane, and I know that we've just crossed over the boundary of my family's estate. I can smell the apple trees already, and the familiar sounds of the woodland and brook that flows through it makes me smile. Granted, the circle isn't that far away, but I'm not allowed many opportunities to leave it. Each time is very special, and not many of the other mages or apprentices in the circle are given the opportunity to visit their families at all. For their sakes, I try to enjoy my outings as much as I can.

It takes about an hour to travel by carriage from the border of the estate to the main house, and I can already see that many other carriages and carts have been parked and are being unloaded. The manner house that my family lives in would be more rightly called a castle, and it's more than large enough to hold a huge number of guests. Because of this, every year they are the ones to put up visiting guests and far flung branches of the family who would otherwise have to find lodging in a local tavern. Nice as those inns are, it doesn't compare to staying in a castle.

Our carriage pulls up in the courtyard, and I wait for Cecilia to get up and open the door first. We've had this talk before – random passersby may not know me for a mage, but those who do will feel unnerved if I'm leading and my templar handlers follow. It's just not done here, and I don't want to create waves. Not on so festive an occasion. I slip out of the carriage after Cecilia, pulling on my gloves to hide my new ring. Reginald gets down from the top bench and calls over a steward to see to our luggage. I don't mind carrying my own – I pack very light, after all – but again, this is how things are done here are home. In the circle I despise being treated any better than the others, especially by the other mages. I just want to be like them, to earn my rewards through merit and hard work. That's the life I'm used to. This life of nobility and pampering just feels increasingly alien with every passing year.

I don't like how Reginald's barking at the poor steward, a man twice his age. I can tell that the servant is intimidated by Reginald's templar armor and sword, unsure what to do first because his commands conflict. Ultimately I step in and pull down my satchel, running the strap across my torso and resting it on my shoulder. "I'll tend to my own things. Thank you, Reginald. I hope that clears up any confusion." The steward looks relieved, but Reginald just fumes. We're in the middle of countless witnesses, so he can't do much. But he still puts a gauntleted hand on my shoulder, gripping it harder than he needs to.

"Don't test my patience, Sulwyn!" he hisses, his lips far too close to my ear.

"It is inappropriate to harass my family's staff, Sir" I counter calmly, not meeting his eyes. For some templars, eye contact makes them angrier. I can only imagine such a thing results from their lyrium use. Those predisposed to anger only suffer worse from the drug.

His grip tightens for a moment, but then he just scowls and releases me, turning away to go and vent his displeasure on a stable hand. I breathe out slowly, closing my eyes for a moment. Whoever decided to send Reginald along with us... perhaps they had it out for me. His behavior has been getting worse and worse. Hopefully this is his last chance, and if he causes a scene he'll be removed from his placement at the Ostwick circle. One can only hope. Or, conversely, he might behave well. Either way, such a scenario would be a win for me.

Cecilia, in her typical quiet way, gathers my attention and leads me out of the courtyard to my room. I'm always happy at the gesture of it. I'm home so seldom, but even so, this room has always been reserved for my use, stocked with a bed that I like, linens that I like, and furniture that I prefer. I even see the book I had been looking at for the winter solstice gathering I'd been home for – the book mark is still in the same spot. While I dither, Cecilia excuses herself to see to her own quarters and Reginald's, and informs me that so long as I stay within the house, I don't have to inform her of my location. If I want to leave the house, I'll need her to accompany me. It's a touch oppressive, I know, but for a circle mage it's extremely lenient.

The interior of the house is warmer than the outside, at least because the stone walls keep the wind away, so I leave my cloak in my room and walk down the familiar hallways and stairwells down to the kitchen. I have someone I need to see, after all.

My Nan, the nurse who'd helped raise all of us children, now spends her days helping in the kitchen. She enjoys baking, but what she enjoys more is watching others work while she knits with a cat in her lap. And that's where I find her, in her typical sunny corner, a cup of tea on a small table nearby, and an orange tabby cat fast asleep on the window sill. Despite her need for glasses, she spots me right away.

"Sulwyn! My tiny Sulwyn!" By the time she creakily gets to her feet, I've slipped past the other busy workers to give her a warm hug.

"Hello Nan! How are you feeling? Well?" This close, I notice a few more wrinkles by her eyes, and her snowy hair is just a touch thinner, pulled up into a bun like it is. That makes me sad, but I don't let it show in my face.

Her gnarled hand pats my arm, and she just smiles. "The same – well enough, my dear. How are you? I've heard that you've passed your test."

I nod, beaming like a little child. "Yes, Nan. I'm a true mage, now."

Nan lowers her voice and looks at me seriously. "Does that make you happy, Sulwyn?" All I can do is nod. It's so complicated – within the narrow confines of a mage's future, passing the Harrowing is one of the best things that can happen to us. Nan's expression softens, and she pats my arm again. "I'm so glad for you, my dear. I was thinking perhaps you would be bringing me good news, so I made some cherry tarts, just for you."

She gestures to a cooling rack by a window, where I see several small tarts steaming on a tray. I also notice one of the kitchen elves just shaking her head, smiling a little as Nan takes credit for her work. I'll be sure to give the girl a nice word when I get a chance. I've always liked the kitchen elves we employ. Their wages and hours and working conditions are far better than what's on offer from other families and establishments, and I think they know that.

I quickly catch up on the gossip from Nan, and then I figure I should probably be a good and decent daughter and see my father. Bann Trevelyan is, as always, in the thick of sorting out the rest of the family. Like any noble house of merit, we have plenty of headaches as well as heroes, and we all rely on the leaders of our families to help sort out these disputes. Despite being busy, he catches sight of me, holding up a hand to ask me to wait. I nod and wander over to one of the tall windows looking out at the grounds. Now and then a little pink nug frolics in the grass – how they'll handle winter I'll never know. Every year I'm surprised the species doesn't die out.

"Sulwyn," I hear at last, and when I turn back to look I can see my father approaching me, leaving the crowd of sulking aristocrats to cool off for a while.

We embrace briefly, and I smile a little, gesturing towards those waiting on him. "The fun starts early this year, I see."

Father just sighs and gestures for us to head out of the main hall to a side corridor where it's quieter. I'm happy to walk along beside him. Being the youngest, and having been sent away at such an early age, I've never spent a lot of time with him. I know him more by reputation than as an actual father.

"You've passed your Harrowing." It's more a statement than anything else.

"Yes, Father. I'm fully a mage now."

He nods as we stroll, our path taking us to the garden. At this time of year most of the plants are closing up and preparing for the snow, but even so, the starkness of the grounds and the little white pebbles of the walkways are pleasant. At long last, Father says uncomfortably "Sulwyn... I'm sorry that you were born with this magical affliction."

Ah, this again.

Like many people in Thedas, my family is terribly wary of mages and magic. Some think it unnatural, though my parents have proven to be at least tolerant, if not utterly welcoming. It's always difficult to know how to respond to that. He really is sincerely sorry about the state of things – that I had to be sent away when my siblings could be raised like normal children and not potential criminals. "Father, it's not your fault, or mother's fault. Some people are just born like this, and I'm grateful that our family had the means to assure I was cared for and educated and kept safe." That's the canned response I've developed through the years. It's about as inoffensive as I can get on the matter.

Still, it doesn't seem to suit him. "You're still young, Sulwyn. You deserve a life, a chance to be married and have children if you want them. I can't see you being allowed that in the circle."

My arms fold over my chest, and I look over at him. "Does this have anything to do with Owen's engagement to that girl from Nevarra?" Father's non-committal shrug means that yes, it is. "Father, Owen is ten years older than I am, and your first child. Of course that sort of thing will make you think of the rest of us."

His eyebrows lift, and he looks out past the iron gates of the garden to the rolling fields beyond. "Yes, I know. And I even believe that Owen will be happy with her. Bronwyn and Bran are both doing well in their templar training and seem happy. And Evan's studies in Antiva are going well."

So I'd heard. Evan and I are six years apart in age, but even so I feel closer to him than anyone. He's my second oldest brother, and I know that father has hopes for him to continue the family line if anything happens to Owen. Given some of the private talks I've had with Evan, however, I'm not sure his heart would be in it. He hasn't made it an openly-known fact that he prefers the company of other men, but he's told me in not so many words. I think it helps for him to have told someone, and the fact that we're both different, at least in terms of our family's expectations, has helped us to grow closer, despite the distance.

Father rubs at his well-trimmed gray-streaked beard and smiles a little. "I suppose I just worry that you feel forgotten. Because you were sent to the circle so young, you might think we're ashamed of you."

Yes, I worry about that all the time, but my expression is well-schooled, and I casually respond with "Are you, Father?"

He approaches, shaking his head. His large hands rest on my narrow shoulders, and he pulls me into an affectionate hug. "No, my little girl. I love you very much."

I admit that as I embrace him back, I hug him tightly, tense with relief. Never have I wanted to make it a big deal, but I've been needing to hear that. "Thank you, Father" I mumble into his shoulder.

The hug is parted as he pushes me away gently, and he pats my arms. "And you've passed your Harrowing! I read the report from the circle – your superiors are all very impressed with you, Sulwyn. An exemplary student, that's what they all say of you. Your achievements there make me very proud."

My cheeks feel warm. "Thank you, Father. It's very important to me to do well and set a good example for the other apprentices."

His expression softens, and he asks "and you have friends there? You're happy?"

I give him a reassuring look. "Yes, Father. I have quite a few friends. And I even tutor some of the younger apprentices. Feeling included is important at our circle. We... receive reports from time to time about what's happening in Kirkwall. How the mages are treated there is terrifying, but luckily the templars that watch over us in Ostwick are far kinder, and see us as people." To alleviate his guilt, I say softly "I'm well-looked after, Father. I don't expect I'd be cared for any better in the Chantry, which was probably going to be my first destination, had I not made my little dolls dance."

That seems to put him at ease and he nods with a smile, and we continue our walk along the paths. We discuss what's happening in Kirkwall these days, and how after the Qunari invaders killed the Viscount two years ago, the city has been under templar rule. With all of Thedas recovering from the blight, tensions have been high everywhere. It's difficult to face what might be the end of the world, then come out the other side and know what to do. It forces everyone to re-evaluate their lives, and traditions that were previously good enough suddenly aren't. Privately, that's what I think is happening with the circle mages. Of course, if other circles are anything like Kirkwall, and mine is one of the blessed exceptions, I can understand why there has been unrest.

What this all means for Ostwick itself is hard to tell. With tensions in Kirkwall rising, and that city being one of the primary landings of trade from Ferelden, scarcity might take hold if that city falls to pieces. War might break out, depending on who allies with whom. I can understand father's worrying – there's so very little keeping the Free Marches together as it is, without all of these other dark clouds looming overhead. There's not a lot of guidance I can offer him, being only 16 and a cloistered mage, but I like to think that it's a relief for him to discuss things like this with me. For the last two years he's treated me like an adult, wanting to make sure that I'm as grounded as his other children. I appreciate that, and always enjoy our talks, seldom as they might be.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When we get back in from the garden, Cecilia is waiting for us. Immediately I flush and look down at my hands – she'd only given me one rule to follow, and I've already broken it. Father notices my sudden change in mood, and he graciously steps in to offer his apologies. It's odd to see father, the head of our house, apologizing to anyone, but the templars are extensions of the chantry's will. To insult one of them is like insulting Andraste herself. Cecilia accepts father's explanation, and quietly reminds him of the reason for her presence, and she manages to do so in a way that isn't condescending. I'm grateful for that, but it chafes from time to time to live under so many sets of rules.

It's as good a time as any for father to head back to his duties, and I let Cecilia escort me back to my chambers so that I might be scolded in private. Despite her fairness and gentleness, being chastised makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I hate disappointing people, to an almost pathological degree. She leaves me alone in my chambers, and I don't really have anywhere I need to be, so I stay there. I can visit mother's grave stone at any time – I'm sure she'll understand if I leave that until tonight.

Perhaps an hour after I've shut myself in my room, I hear a knock at the door. "Miss Trevelyan?" comes a nervous Dalish voice, and I look up from the book I'm reading.

"Yes?"

"May I come in? Nan sent me up with your pastries."

That makes me smile. I'd forgotten all about them, and having one with some tea would be very nice right about now. "Please, come in. The door is unlocked."

I set the book aside and stand as the elf girl from the kitchens, the same one who smiled, comes in and closes the door behind her, a small wicker basket hanging from her arm. A checkered cloth covers the top, and when she sets the basket down on the table near the window, I can already smell the pastries inside.

Plucking the towel carefully aside, I gaze down at them with admiration, and say "Oh, these look amazing! We hardly ever get such lovely treats at the circle."

The elf girl beams, biting her lip as she laces her fingers behind her. "Nan mentioned you liked them, Miss, so I wanted to make sure they were ready on the day you arrived." Maybe sensing my slight unwillingness to make a faux pas, she offers "My name's Maili, Miss. I just started this summer, working here."

What a relief. I'd hate to have forgotten her since last winter. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Maili." I take a moment to think, and then clasp my hands. "Would you like to have tea with me?"

Her large, brown eyes widen. "Tea, with you, Miss?"

I nod, afraid I've upset her.

Maili nibbles her lip, her hands fretting at her skirt. "Yes. I'd like that. Shall I fetch some tea settings?"

"Yes please, Maili."

When she turns to move away, I only just notice the way the sunlight shines on the very subtle white decorative lines on her face. A vallaslin, marking her as truly Dalish (as if her charming accent didn't already). I try to recall what etiquette lessons I was given in the circle, and I set up the little table by the window with two chairs, but I'm distracted by the flicker vision of Maili's facial decoration. It was so unobtrusive and difficult to see on her fair skin, set against her light brown, braided hair and large, blue eyes. When she returns just a little while later with a tray, I help clear a space for it and then, without thinking, I magic the door closed.

Maili gasps, almost dropping a cup on the floor, but catching it with a small clatter. There's a tense moment of silence, and she looks up at my guiltily. "I know you're a mage, Miss. You said so. Your family says so. But to see it..."

I flush, clearing my throat. "I'm sorry if that troubled you. I wasn't thinking."

She shakes her head, and pours out the tea, trying not to let her hands shake. "No, Miss. I've seen magic before. My clan had mages, of course. But to see a human use magic... what with all the stories coming from Kirkwall. It's scary, Miss. I'm sorry if that sounds silly."

From her point of view, any human mage, or even any city elf mage, would be scary. There's been a lot of templar-spread propaganda about maleficars and abominations, after all. I suppose it's reached Ostwick in general, and not just my circle. "Things in Kirkwall scare me too, Maili. I don't truly know what to believe – it's all so terrible." I take a seat, suddenly feeling quiet awkward, and she takes a seat too, not daring to meet my eyes. Again, I'm getting the feeling that I'm offending someone, so I swallow and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Your vallaslin's beautiful."

Now, put some sugar in your tea and stir it like a normal person. Good. Well done, Sulwyn.

Maili looks up at me, her cheeks a little pink. "Thank you, Miss," she says softly, adding cream and sugar to her tea. I take one of her tarts and nibble at it, loving it immediately, and I think that helps to ease her tensions. "It's in honor of Sylaise, the hearthkeeper." Nibbling her lip, she admits "I'm not sure what humans would call her, if she even has a name with the Chantry."

"I'm not sure she does, Maili. I don't go to service very often, but when I go next, I'll light a candle for her too."

That makes the elf smile, and she gently takes a tart too, clearly enjoying it. "Your eyes are pretty, Miss," she offers, the tips of her ears pinking a little as she obviously avoids meeting my gaze.

"Thank you, Maili. I think the lyrium might be responsible. They only looked like this after my Harrowing." Shit, did I say too much about it? Damn.

She looks over at me, concerned as she wipes her fingers with her napkin. In a whisper, she asks "was it awful, Miss? Some people don't pass, from what I hear. Others even prefer _Tranquility_."

What can I say to that? She looks horrified, but she isn't wrong. My eyes close, and I set the pastry down on my plate. All I can manage to say is "I'd prefer not to go through it again."

Maili frets with her napkin, and her words are quick and secretive as she whispers "My cousin, in the alienage in Kirkwall, was taken away. He... escaped back to the clan, and told everyone what it was like – being made to take lyrium, being pushed into the fade, being tempted by demons... He had such nightmares, Miss, and he'd wake up weeping." Her eyes flit down to her hands, and then she looks back up at me. "Miss... Sulwyn... no one knows what it was like for you. But I know, a little. And I'm sorry you were made to go through it."

I swallow down a tense throat. It isn't in my heart to lie and say her cousin was crafting stories, because he wasn't. That was exactly my experience, so all I can do is look into her eyes, and then look down again, all the confirmation I can give. Almost immediately she's out of her chair, rounding the little table and hugging me, and I don't know what to do. But her skinny arms are comforting, and... I've not been able to tell anyone about it. Not my father, not the other apprentices. And the senior mages prefer not to revisit those experiences. This is the first time I've been able to really deal with it, so I get to my feet and hug her back. Trevelyans don't easily cry, but my eyes are wet. It's a near thing.

"Well, it's done now, Maili. You needn't worry about me. I'm fine." I don't think she really buys my attempts to reassure her, but she's good enough to release me from the hug.

There's a moment, then, that passes between us. She remains close, her eyes demurely lowered, and her hand slides from my shoulder to my wrist. It's... inviting. Does she expect me to do something? If I were a boy this would make more sense – I've never been looked at by girls before. Not like this. I've got every right to dismiss the offer, but I don't really want to. This feels secret and a little forbidden, spending time with the staff, especially a girl, and _especially_ an elf. Very slowly I shift forward, and press a light kiss on her cheek.

Beneath my lips her skin feels warm and dry, and her hair smells nice, like flowers. "You're very beautiful, Miss," she whispers, the hand on my wrist guiding my touch to her hip. Beneath her grsy dress, I can tell that her frame is slender and light. I think she's around my age, though, to me, elves look almost perpetually young with their large eyes. My heart is beating harder, my face flushed, and I press a kiss up beneath her pointed ear. It makes her sigh, her other hand moving to the lacing on the side of my tunic, fingers twining with the crossed cords.

When our lips finally meet, hers taste like sugar and tea and cherries. I've never kissed anyone before – I never realized it would feel like this, so soft and electric. My skin tingles beneath my clothing, and I draw her against me, feeling her eager body against mine. I shiver and let the kiss end, breathing a little harder.

Somewhat disoriented, I whisper "You're a girl... I don't understand..."

Maili smiles a little. "Yes, I'm a girl, Miss. It's okay. My gods understand – surely your Andraste will."

That's true. If Evan has his secrets, I suppose I can have mine. "I can't keep you too long – you'll be missed," I say, thinking aloud. "But, later tonight?"

The elf smiles and nods. "Yes, Miss. I sleep with the others, but there's a storage room in the south wing that no one ever goes to."

I nod. "I'll meet you there, after supper."

Maili nods, then she takes in a deep breath to compose herself, and takes away the tea service tray, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts. Had I been enchanted?

Do I really care?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The rest of the day feels like it's dragging unbelievably. Dinner isn't really a family affair. Father makes an appearance for a while, but then is called away. Owen and his fiance sit at the table, and she and I are introduced. She seems nice, though intense. I think all Nevarrans are perpetually angry looking. Cecilia and Reginald remain in the background, standing attentively with their backs to the wall. It's humiliating to be watched over, so whatever conversation I might have had with my brother is brief.

Our dinners are cleared away, and I excuse myself, letting my handlers know that I'll probably stroll around the estate's interior. I've already visited mother's grave just before sunset, so I have no other business outside. That seems to suit Cecilia, who inclines her head and makes for the kitchen, likely to get her meal and then turn in for the night. It's Reginald's turn to remain vigilant, which means being ready to deal with me at a moment's notice, should there be a problem. When I glance at him he just smirks, and I pass him by, feeling tense. Does he know about Maili? How guilty do I look?

Luckily, though, he doesn't follow me towards the south wing. I'm very careful, having learned in the circle how to keep my steps light and to know when I'm being followed and when I'm not. Mostly those skills were developed so I could sneak a sweet from the kitchen when I was little, but they're proving useful for more duplicitous things now.

Just as she said, Maili is waiting in the storage room. When she sees me she looks relieved, and before I have a moment she hugs me. "Oh Miss! I thought you wouldn't come! I was so worried."

I swallow, hugging her back. "Of course. You invited me," is my lame, polite reply, and I let her lead me towards a mattress on the floor in the corner.

"I come up here sometimes, when I'm having a hard time with dreams. I don't want to wake the others, so I sleep here," she explains. I notice little chalk markings on the wall, etchings that look very elvhen. They're pretty. Moonlight streams in past a half-open curtain, putting a silver sheen on the edges of everything.

She kneels on the mattress, which is strewn with blankets, and I take a seat, hugging my knees. "Do you have a hard time sleeping very often?"

Maili shakes her head. "No, Miss. Only when I first started – I was so nervous, living with humans and city elves. I thought I'd do something wrong at any moment, and the stress made sleeping difficult. But your family is a very nice one, and I soon learned not to worry so much." She looks around, and finds a bottle of wine, trying her best to unstopper it with her slender hands.

I spot a metal cup nearby, and I use my handkerchief to wipe it clean on the inside. With a soft pop, Maili gets the bottle open, and she pours a little out into the metal vessel so I can take a sip. It tastes sweet, like cherries. I smile, never having tasted cherry wine before, but I like it. She accepts it when I hand her the cup, and she takes a sip from it, giggling. "I really shouldn't be doing this, Miss. But it's so nice to get away, just for a little while."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, easing myself down to lie on my back on the mattress. The lovely chalk markings are up on the ceiling, too; constellations with lines drawn between the stars. Some of them are familiar, and some aren't.

"Will your templars be angry with you?" she asks nervously, pouring out a little more wine and sipping at it.

I shrug. "Cecilia? Probably not. I'm still in the house. Reginald gets mad at me for doing anything..." I say sourly, propping myself up on my elbows. Maili hands me the cup and I drink from it, tossing back a few swallows, wanting to get buzzed.

The elf giggles and accepts back the empty cup, pouring some more for herself before lying down on her stomach next to me, the cup cradled in her hands. "He looks like an angry young man. But he looks at you like he isn't, when you aren't looking."

That confuses me, or maybe it's the wine making me stupid. "I don't understand."

She smiles, and sips at her wine, wriggling her fingers. "Templars aren't supposed to, you know... with the mages. And I think he wants to, with you. But he can't, and that makes him mad."

My cheeks burn and I blink. No, that can't be right. He's two years older than me, and has always been a jerk. Never missing an opportunity to... get close... or touch my arm... A shiver runs down my spine and I swallow. "That's... I don't know what to think about that, to be honest."

Maili's feet sway over her backside girlishly, and she sips from her wine again. "Told you, Miss," she says softly, over the rim.

The fact that she saw all that in just one day makes me wonder a few things. How perceptive is she, and how dense am I? Or, more basically, is it even true? I try to shove it all out of my head, my arm draping over my eyes as I groan softly. "I'm going to need more wine, Maili." Dutifully she refills the cup and presses it into my hand, and so I move to prop myself up on my elbow again to sip at it.

"Are circle mages allowed to kiss, Miss?" she asks innocently.

This wine is really good. "It's frowned upon, forming relationships like that."

Her expression falls, disappointed. "Not even with each other? Where's the harm?"

I finish off the cup, licking a drop from my lip. "I didn't make the rules. If I did, mages would be treated a lot differently, that's for sure." Looking at her, I shift a little, propping myself up on my hip. "And I'd make sure elves were treated better, both in cities and in their clans. No one should have to be afraid of abuse, just because they were born as they were."

Maili smiles, gently taking my empty cup from my fingers. She sets it aside and moves in closer, ducking her head to press a kiss against my cheek. Very slowly my eyes close, her breath smelling of cherries again, and I don't move as she straddles my lap. While she's a only a few inches shorter than me, she's far more slight. Her hips come to rest on my thighs, and I sit up straighter, my hands moving to pull her in close, until her stomach's up against mine. Her skirt is light and flowing, and I can feel how it slides over her leggings and boots.

Her lips trail kisses from my cheek to my ear, and then along the side of my neck. The touches are feather light, her curling hair just coming loose from the braid she keeps it in. The moonlight gleams off of the marks of her vallaslin, as if silver or ivory has been set into her creamy skin. A sudden, intense feeling wells up in me, something selfish and hungry and new. I've read romances before but had never understood them.

Now, I think, I do.

I cup my hands behind her head, guiding her lips to find mine. Our kiss is like it was earlier today, but more, hotter, hungrier. Maili really seems to like that, her eyes closing, cheeks warming beneath my fingertips. Her hands grip at my tunic, slim fingers finding the cording by my collarbone and unlacing it. The feeling of being undressed, it makes me shiver with anticipation, and eventually I break the kiss to lean back on my hands as she loosens the tunic enough to pull it over my head. With that gone I'm naked from the hips up.

The chill of the room is hardly felt, especially when her hands toss my tunic aside, and her palms press to my breasts and knead at them as we kiss again. It makes my arms go weak, and I lie on my back, my knees bent and the soles of my boots pressed to the mattress. Even as she kisses me, her hips slowly grind back against my thigh, the left in particular, and I can feel how warm she is beneath her skirt and leggings. My hands move to unfasten the buttons at her front, my touch shaky with nerves and adrenaline. In my somewhat tipsy state, her garment is too complicated for me, and I whine into the kiss, gently tugging at her dress in frustration.

Maili giggles and sits up, unfastening things here and there, until she pulls the dress off completely, leaving her only in her leggings and boots. Her slender, whippet body in the moonlight makes my blood run hotter still, and I push myself up, rolling us both until I'm looming over her, and her legs are spread around my hips. Her smallish breasts feel good beneath my hand, and the way she arches up beneath me when I kiss her makes me shudder with desire. If this is what the templars don't want the mages to have, I can almost understand it. This... feeling, I wonder if using blood magic is like this?

I'm so busy wondering about this that I only notice her hand slipping into the front of my pants at the last moment. Her touch finds the curling hair there, and beyond that...

"Miss, you're so wet" she breathes against my lips. I can feel her fingers gently slide along my hidden flesh, feeling it where it's smooth. It makes me shiver and gasp, and my legs part further invitation. My eyes widen and I look down at her desperately as I feel a single digit slip inside of me. Her finger remains there for a few seconds before she slips her hand out, and I watch, transfixed, as she sucks the glistening dew from her digit. "You taste nice, Miss," she whispers, and I nearly collapse. "Shall I taste more of you?"

Now, I actually do collapse. Just before my arms give out and my throat croaks out an answer, she giggles and rolls me slowly onto my back again. Now she kneels between my legs, her fingers clever as she unties the fastenings of my pants. My boots and leggings are soon off, tossed on the growing pile of clothing, and I close my eyes as she slides onto her stomach between my legs. The feel of her kiss touching me there is like a shock, and I curl my toes, gasping, tensing as her gentle tongue slides slowly from bottom to top, and then again. And again.

"Maili, oh gods above..." I hiss, my hands wanting to grab her by the hair while my sense of decorum forbids me from being so barbarous.

"You must keep quiet, Miss," she says softly. "Which may prove difficult."

I nod, unseen, and then grit my teeth as two of her fingers slide inside of me slowly. My shivers and my writhing don't deter her, and her mouth descends to me again, her tongue finding that one special spot that feels so much. It makes me shake, my lips pressing together in a tight line as I whine. I can hardly stand it when the tip of her tongue flicks and flutters over that spot, and it's equally as unbearable and wonderful when her mouth presses tightly over it, her tongue rubbing in slow, firm grinds.

Something is approaching, and I'm suddenly half afraid that this is what it feels like to be possessed. Is that happening? Should I fight this? But it feels so good! I don't know what to do! I'm shivering as Maili kneels between my legs and then looms forward. One hand presses firmly to my chest, keeping me lying down on my back, while her other moves her two fingers quickly inside me, pistoning them fast and hard. My eyes are wide as I look up at her, and I can see that she's taken her hair out of its braid, wavy brown ringlets handing wildly around her beautiful, young face.

Within moments, that terrifying feeling crests and breaks, and her hand moves from my chest to my mouth, clamping down over it just in time. I cry out into her palm, unable to handle this sensation, my body arching and tight and tense and hot.

"It's alright, Miss!" she says softly, trying to assure me even as her fingers, plunged knuckle deep, undulate slowly to keep me shivering. "This is how it's supposed to feel."

Is it? Is it?! Why haven't I ever done this before, if that's the case?! My breath wafts out from my nose in sharp pants, and I only just think to let go of my death grip on her sheets. I nod slowly, and she removes her hand from my mouth. I'm about to say something when I feel her fingers finally leave me, her fingertips just sweeping up teasingly against that spot one last time to make me grit my teeth and curl up, thighs pressed tightly together.

This can't be Maili's first time, she's far too good at all of this, but I try not to think about it. What does it matter? It's not like I can form a lasting relationship with her, romantically speaking. I offer to try and give her the same feeling, but she declines, explaining that she's more than happy enough to make me feel good. She helps me get dressed, and I start picking up the cup and bottle as she slips into her dress again and buttons it. Another moment, and her hair is pulled up into a bun again, as good as new. I offer to bring the wine and cups away, and she at least accepts that.

Which is good, because I want to bring them to my room and finish the bottle off. I think I'm going to need it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next day I wake up with a hangover and the taste of Maili's wine on my tongue. While knowing that my head doesn't, in fact, weigh the same as a small horse, you'd be hard pressed to convince me of that right in this moment. All I desire this morning is coffee and water and bread with butter, and to not speak with anyone about anything for at least a week. I see Maili in the kitchen, looking as energetic as she did yesterday, and she does a good job of not looking at me improperly. I'll admit that I want nothing more than to shove her onto the work table and kiss her, but those sorts of ideas are going to have to wait until after my head stops throbbing.

For the next day, preparations are being made for the harvest ball. To simply call it a ball, however, doesn't do it justice. During the day, fairgrounds are set up, with food stalls and vendor stalls, and even stalls with games. Tourney fields are mapped out with rope and pennants, and the clash of steel and armor and horse flesh rings out across the fields, as does the cheering of the crowds. Unfortunately Reginald is my handler while I mingle and enjoy the festivities, and every once in a while he grips my arm to keep me still.

At first it's irritating, but after a while, as my head clears from its headache, I try to pay attention to what he's seeing. Every once in a while I catch snippets of conversation, or looks directed me, and none of it is friendly. Could it be that Reginald is keeping me out of harm's way, in his own fashion? I... don't want to think that, but after the last instance of a drunken knight almost unsheathing his sword at me, I'm grateful when Reginald puts himself between me and the much larger man, the templar bristling with contained rage and ready to lash out. I offer no resistance as he leads me away from the fairgrounds and back down the road towards the manor house.

We walk in silence for a while, Reginald still tense and angry, and I deflated and confused. "I don't understand what I did wrong," I finally say, feeling terribly embarrassed.

He still looks grim, but he lets down on his mood enough to say "You didn't do anything wrong." When my eyes meet his, he seems to soften, maybe seeing how upset I am. "You know how bad it's getting in Kirkwall. And you have reddish eyes. The people here don't know any better, Sulwyn. They're afraid you're a maleficar."

"But I'm not," I explain softly, feeling my headache come back.

To my surprise, he says "I know you're not." His scowl returns a little, and he lowers his voice to say "but let's talk about that little dalliance you had last night with the elf girl. You're not a blood mage, but sneaking around and using the servants is unworthy behavior."

My feet come to a stop on the dirt road, and I'm pretty sure what color remains in my face drains right out of it. I glance at him, my eyes full of guilt, and then I look down at my hands. "I'm sorry." I feel his hand grip my arm and squeeze, and I flinch, shutting my eyes tightly, shaking. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" I babble, trembling.

Reginald sighs and releases me. "Relax, I didn't tell Cecilia, though I should have. Our duty is to not only keep an eye on you, but to protect you from others. I can't do that if you sneak off."

My eyes remain closed, but I turn my head away, lips a tight line. It's taking a lot to maintain my composure, when I feel my restraints so keenly. "We aren't people to you templars, are we?" I say softly, opening my eyes but not looking at him. For the longest time I'd tried to ignore the blatant truth of it, but with this latest taste of freedom, which others can enjoy all the time, it's so difficult to pretend now.

I can hear him shift, his gauntlet closing into a fist and opening again, but I just lift my chin and continue walking back to the house, my demeanor haughty even if my cheeks are red. He follows along, shockingly silent.

Between the time I get home and the opening of the ball, a few hours pass by in sullen solitude. I have a dress in black and red for the event, and I'm just finishing up with the corset when I hear a knock at the door. Cecilia's voice is on the other side. "Do you need any help?"

"No, thank you," I call back, lying. I'd have liked it if Maili were here to help me get dressed, but I don't dare ask for her, lest Reginald think it a bridge too far and tells Cecilia what he knows. I manage the dress myself, resorting to a little magic to get the last parts just right, and I finish with my makeup – deep red lipstick and smoky black eye shadow – as the bells begin to ring to announce the opening. My dress is a deep red, with a black sash around my waist, and a black shawl over my strapless shoulders. I've pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail, with a black ribbon to secure it. My boots have two inch heels on them, so I feel a little more empowered than usual, now able to look Cecilia in the eye.

She gives me a look over once I leave my room, and she nods her approval. "I doubt anyone will give you trouble, dressed as you are. But there may still be those ready to speak their mind. We'll be there, either by your side or at a discrete distance, ready to intervene on your behalf. As you know, be polite, non-aggressive, and under no circumstances perform any magic, not even the smallest trick to make someone laugh."

"Yes, Ma'am," I say softly, lowering my eyes to my hands.

We both set off for the ball, which is being thrown in the grand hall of my family's manor house. Luckily I spot my brother Evan, who has only just arrived this afternoon from Antiva. I'm so thankful that he's here. Evan looks a great deal like I used to – fair skin and dark, brown hair, with narrow, handsome features and a slim build. In another life, we'd both make excellent dancers. Right now he's dressed in typical Antivan courtly dress, and I must admit that he looks sharp in it.

Evan's face lights up when he sees me, and he delicately parts himself from his conversation circle to make his way over to me. I can't help but smile as he hugs me and laughs, then holds me at arm's length. "Since when did you turn into a beautiful grown up woman?" he asks teasingly, and I just smirk.

"Since I passed my Harrowing, I'd imagine."

Evan nods, a brief look of concern passing across his features. "You were always the most fearless, you know. To talk about such an ordeal like that. Sulwyn, you amaze me always. Tell me everything that's happened since your last letter!" His eyes flick over towards my two handlers, who linger towards the edges of the room, and he lowers his voice. "Unless that would unsettle them?"

I look back at them, and while Reginald just looks like he's sulking, Cecilia catches my eye, surmises the situation, and nods. Evan picks up on it and smiles, all of his charm back in full, and he leads me out to the dance floor. A new song strikes up, and I focus on not stepping on his toes. I must be doing a good job, because I don't trip and, despite myself, I'm starting to have fun. With the privacy of the dancing tumult, we quietly chat about this and that. I relate father's worry about my future happiness, and Evan just chuckles. "They seem to think you're disabled. It's a silly notion. I wish you could come live with me at court. Surely they would have need of a clever mage."

The thought is exciting, without a doubt. To be allowed to travel, see new places and live outside of the circle... it's more than I could ever dream of. "I just want to be free to choose, Evan. I have no choices, and though I don't regret my good fortune, I feel like a caged animal. I could do so much more to help people, especially as people recover from the blight. Why am I stuck in the circle when I could be fixing things, or healing the wounded?" Pausing for a moment, I look into his eyes. "You've heard of the circle in Kirkwall?"

Evan nods, his features grim. "I get word from there, from time to time. It's not good at all, what's happening with their circle. I always think of you, and worry about you. Would living in an Antivan circle be better for you?"

My eyes lower. "It's still another cage, Evan." That felt ungrateful, so I swallow it all down and smile a little, looking back up at him. "But please... do look into it, if you would. It would be nice to see you more often. You could visit me, I'm sure."

He pouts. "Do Owen and father not visit you?" I take in a slow, silent breath, and don't meet his eyes, which tells him everything. "Ah, well, that is their loss, isn't it? I will write some letters tonight, and I will speak with father, stressing your safety."

I nod. It wouldn't be so bad, living in Antiva. The culture there is different – men and women have more strict roles, with dress codes and traditions. I might chafe at that, but on the other hand if they treat their mages any better, it might be tolerable. I'd be more than willing to live life in a dress if it meant being able to take a walk outside. For most of the evening I weigh the pros and cons, grilling Evan with every single question I can think of. Being an apprentice merchant, of course he's not going to be completely well versed with Chantry law in Antiva, or their views on mage circles, but he humors me like the good brother he is, promising to look into it for me as soon as he can. It's all I can ask.

Despite the event being held in my family's manor house, there are still guests present who clearly aren't comfortable with me being here. My hearing is good, and I catch the words "blood magic" and "Kirkwall" and "abomination" bandied about now and again. Of course I don't engage with those groups – I'd be as welcome as a blister on a long walk.

Still, later on in the evening, trouble finds me. Much like that drunken knight at the fair earlier today, as the festivities carry on and wine is quaffed at festival-quantities, tongues become looser and looser. I try to mingle and show people that I'm a normal person, and for the most part I'm well received (despite some bizarrely condescending comments like how well-spoken I am). Even so, it's difficult to answer to the same misconceptions all the time, as if this is the first time I've ever considered that I might be possessed by a demon and kill those I love. Charming, isn't it?

Towards eleven or so I excuse myself, let my handlers know that I'll be in the garden to get some fresh air and quiet, and then I make my way there post haste. It's immediate relief – the stuffy, hot, loud, frustrating atmosphere is replaced by a single step with the crisp, cool, quiet evening. I pull my shawl over my shoulders as my adrenaline slowly dissipates, my hand rubbing at the nape of my neck as I try and get over how terribly uncomfortable I am. Is this what the rest of Thedas is like? Would I be treated like some carnival attraction everywhere? Is that what I want?

Suddenly, the crunching stalk of heavy foot falls splits into my awareness, and I freeze, half concealed with shadow beneath an arbor. Maybe it's just a drunk partier, and they'll miss me altogether. Unfortunately that isn't the case, and a large, bearded, scowling man marches right up to me. Gods above, this can't be good.

"You will leave my son alone, you _mage_ bitch."

I have no idea what to say, and I swallow down a tense throat. "Sir, I'm... I apologize, but I don't know who your son is."

He crushes into my personal space, fuming and smelling of beer, and I have to take a step back, my shoulders pressing against the latticework and its sleeping ivy. "Don't play stupid. You spoke with my son, blushing and flirting with him. Are you trying to seduce him?!"

"No! Sir, I'm sorry, but there's been a misunderstand..." I'm unable to get the rest out, because his hand suddenly crashes against the side of my face, knocking my head to the side and rattling my senses. My hands fly up and I curl into myself, shaking. "I'm sorry, Sir!" I cry out, trembling, and when I see him start to pull his belt from its loops, I try to run, foiled with his vice grip on my arm.

"Don't you fucking run from me!"

And then it happens. I know Cecilia told me not to use magic. I know she told me to be polite. But I'm terrified of this man, and with a sudden shove of my splayed palm, he's launched from the ground, thrown back by at least thirty feet to come crashing down into a set of shrubbery. Pebbles, leaves, branches, and dirt go flying, and I press my hands over my mouth. I did that? Oh my god, I'll be in such trouble!

For half a second I contemplate running away, but this is my family's estate. They were nice enough to invite me here, and I used my magic to hurt one of their guests. It's not the Trevelyan way to run like a coward. Shaking still, I walk over to the man as he picks himself up, his senses clearly dazed, and I ask nervously "S...Sir? Sir, are you alright?"

"You attacked me!" he mutters, then shouts "YOU ATTACKED ME! GUARDS!"

All the blood drains from my face, and my breath catches in my chest. Foot steps suddenly sound from around the bend in the path, and I see Reginald there, which only makes my heart sink further. There's no one who wants to see me punished more than he does. "What seems to be the trouble?" he asks officiously, and I just look down at my hands.

The other man doesn't remain silent. "That fucking bitch attacked me! Threw me into those bushes there with her magic!" He puffs himself up, and dabs at his brow, where a trickle of blood oozes down from a cut. "I need medical attention! And I demand that this creature be locked up! I demand satisfaction!"

My anxiety is unbelievably high right now, and all I can do is focus on remaining upright and lucid. Reginald says something, but it's only when he puts his gauntlet on my shoulder do I gasp and look up into his eyes. He studies my face for a moment, then repeats "Sulwyn, did you attack him with your magic."

In barely more than a whisper, I say "Yes, Sir."

Reginald nods, then looks back at the man. "How long were you beating her before she attacked you?"

The man's eyes widen, and he splutters, furious. "I didn't lay a hand on the stupid bitch!"

My handler pulls me into the moonlight, and turns my head so the throbbing welt from the large man's hand is visible. "Are you saying she tripped and fell and received this mark on her own? Do you have your belt in your hand for a reason, or were you elsewhere, innocently befouling the garden when she accosted you?"

I don't know what's happening. All of Reginald's aggression is directed at this much larger man, and my attacker is actually backing off. "Well... I, you see..."

The templar snorts. "Go wash yourself up, and one of the staff will fetch a physician for your cut. This needn't become a story that follows you, Sir. People trip and fall in the garden all the time." There's a moment of tense silence, until finally the large man sighs and inclines his head, making his way back to the house.

Which leaves me alone with Reginald, the last place I want to be. I'm still shaking, and I feel cold and in shock. He picks up my shawl, which had tumbled to the ground, and places it over my shoulders. "Come on. Let's walk for a moment. Let that big buffoon make his excuses."

I swallow and nod, my eyes cast down. The side of my face hurts, and I just feel sick and upset, but he makes me keep walking, the pace brisk. After a while, I realize that the exercise is helping, and I'm calming down faster than I might have otherwise. "I should have been walking within sight of you..." he says at long last, his hawkish features even more severe in the moonlight, "...but I know that you don't care for my company."

What do I say to that? "Sir..." I begin to say, feeling the need to apologize all over again. It feels like a conditioned response with him. Perversely, I press my lips together and straighten my back, taking in a slow breath through my nose. "I shouldn't have come to the ball at all. This was stupid. This was so stupid."

I think my venom and frustration catch him a little off-guard. "You did a good job in there. So few people know a mage personally that it's easy to demonize them. It's easy to be scared of things when they don't have a face."

My teeth grit. "But people will know! It won't matter that he was unaccountably inappropriate. It's my fault! I _hurt_ him!" The pebbles of the path grate a little as I come to a stop and turn towards my handler. "This is my problem, and I don't know how to fix it!" His expression is slightly less stony than usual, and I gulp, looking away, my jaws clenched. "All of Thedas is looking at Kirkwall, scared. What if they purge the circles, like alienages are purged? What can I do? What's going to happen?! I can't _do_ anything!"

I'm getting hysterical, my voice growing louder and louder, my eyes wet, until at last Reginald puts his gauntleted hands on my shoulders. "Nothing will happen to you, so long as I'm here to stop it."

Wait, what?

My chest is heaving, my heart pounding with panic and frustration and pain, and I don't understand what's happening. Maybe it's because I'm caught by such surprise that when he leans in to kiss me I don't move away. I let it happen, my eyes closing. His kiss isn't like Maili's, but it's still sweet and gentle. The feel of his armor against my slender body as he shifts closer is cold and unyielding, and I... I like it. I can feel the embossed motif of the sword and its rays against my chest, and my hands grip at his belt, holding him closer still as I deepen the kiss, not caring. I just need relief, a moment to think about something less frightening.

I'm not sure when he moved me back against a tree, but suddenly the scrape of bark pulls at my shawl and scrapes at my exposed shoulders. That same intense feeling, that hunger, wells up again just like it did with Maili, my heart pounding, my cheeks flushed. Unlike Maili, however, this isn't just some innocent fling I can be free of when I go back to the circle. Sucking in a breath through my nose, I part the kiss, my lips tingling, fingers shaking. "This is going to get you in trouble. Fraternizing is forbidden," I whisper.

He grits his teeth and looks down. "...I know," he grumbles at last. "Why do you think I treat you like I do?"

My eyes widen in confusion, and I just shake my head a little in admission of it.

Reginald sighs, and his gauntlet squeezes my bare shoulder gently. "Because I've always liked you. And I was jealous. And I knew that this is stupid and will never work, but I'm too stubborn to let it go." He frowns, and hisses "I have delusions that I might be good enough for you, but... I get so nervous and... I just end up being a bastard when I'm near you." His hand slips away from me, and he takes a step back, composing himself. "I requested this assignment, not to torment you... but just... to see you happy. For a little while. With that elf girl, dancing, seeing your brother, talking with your father."

My eyes sink to my hands. This is all so much to take in.

His armor clanks softly as he steps closer again, reaching for my shoulder, but pausing, and opting to cup my cheek instead. The feel of the cool metal against my burning, hurting skin feels oddly good, and nervously I look up at him, this symbol of my oppression. "Please... don't be afraid of me. I know I don't deserve that trust, but I hate making you afraid. Making you irritated? I can handle that. It feels just. But scaring you? Please don't be afraid."

Slowly my hand lifts to touch at his armored wrist, and I look at the metal covering most of his body. "You don't understand how frightening all of you are, Sir. The very sight of you, and the thought of you... you have the power to take my dreams away. No one can do that to you, but you could do it to me, if you hated me enough."

"I would never do that!" he protests softly, but I hold up a hand, pressing it to his chest plate.

"Not you. But if I had the misfortune of being in Kirkwall right now... after tonight? I might wake up tomorrow with a mark on my forehead, and no dreams ever again. I would be gone, because a templar had decided it."

His eyes close, and I can see hopelessness flicker through his expression. I know how it feels, but it hurts to see. Does it hurt him to see me that way?

After a few moments, his voice is soft as he asks "Do you really wish to be transferred to the circle in Antiva City, to be with your brother?"

There's such pain in that question. How did he even hear about that? Did he speak with Evan? Suddenly I feel guilty, though looking out for my welfare can't really be called selfish, can it? "I just want to be free, Sir."

He nods, taking in a breath and letting it out. The moonlight gleams on his armor, and I can tell that he must have cleaned it all in particular earlier today, because it had looked far more dull on the trip up here. "What you said earlier, on the road back to the manor..." he fidgets a little, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "...I do think of you as a person. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise." With a last, long look back at the ballroom and its tall, glowing windows, he says "We should be getting back," turning and walking back down the path without really waiting for me.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When Reginald and I get back to the ball room,the party is winding down. I don't get any vicious looks – luckily, my attacker stuck with the story of having tripped in the garden, as that's all I'm hearing about as I walk through the crowd. Evan catches my eye, then his expression becomes concerned when he sees how tense I look. Cecilia sees the same thing, but she doesn't let on that she has. My handlers escort me back to my chambers, and I'm asked to wait there while Reginald fills her in on what actually happened.

Meanwhile, I pack my bags. Like as not we'll be heading out tomorrow anyway, and I need something to do right now. Everything that's happened – my first kiss ever with Maili, possibly moving to Antiva, being assaulted, and having Reginald (of all people) not only come to my rescue, but admit his feelings for me. Even if all these things happened in a month, most people would accuse me of making up stories, let alone having all of this occur in less than 48 hours. And what's worse, I'll have to keep nearly all of this a secret! I'm not a gossip, but for gods' sakes, some things need to be talked about.

I've probably packed and repacked my bag three times when I hear a knock at my door. "Come in" I call out, wiping my sweaty palms on my leggings again. I've managed to slip out of my dress and get back into my typical day clothes. It's not as if I'm traveling right this very second, but the thought of undressing for the night seems premature, and that dress just seems like bad luck.

When the door opens, I'm surprised to see Reginald slipping inside. He closes the portal behind him, and I only just notice that he's not wearing his armor. My room is dark for the most part, a candle or two doing little to push all the shadows away. I have to admit, in this light, in his fine black tunic and dress pants and shoes, he does look dashing. "I've given Cecilia my report. She says you are pardoned for using magic, because it was used in self defense, and you stopped when the danger was gone. You're not in trouble."

The relief is remarkable, and I just nod for a moment. "What about you?"

Reginald idly rubs his hands together, his long, slender fingers calloused in places from his sword work. "What about me?" he asks, somewhat defensively.

I roll my eyes. "You told a person to lie!"

He only shrugs, flicking his eyes up to meet mine. "No... I convinced him to back off, and to save himself the humiliation of a Chantry inquiry for assaulting one of the mages under its care. Cecilia agrees that I did him a favor. It's a lucky detail that your actions will go unrecorded, that's all."

That doesn't sit right. "But I was wrong. Magic is meant to serve man..." I begin reciting, but he scoffs and holds up his hand, making me stop with slight irritation.

"Magic is meant to serve everyone, even its wielder. What's the point of it, if it can't keep you from harm? You did nothing wrong, because you knew when to stop."

Somehow, despite his words falling into line with my thoughts on the matter, his tone still aggravates me to no end. "For gods' sakes, will you let me take responsibility for this?!" I yell at him. He scowls and gets into my face, looming over me, his dark eyes narrowed. Even so, I hiss up at him "I'm not a _child_. I'm a fucking Trevelyan, and I will _not _slink like a coward from my punishment!"

His lips pull tightly into a sneer, his teeth glinting in the candle light. "There is no punishment!"

"There should be!" I counter.

His face darkens, and he spits out "You're so fucking aggravating! Do you understand that?!"

The heat and anger in his voice, I don't understand why it does this, but while it makes me clench my teeth with anger, I feel that hunger again. "Fuck you, Reginald," I hiss, standing up to him, daring to speak so profanely to a templar. It's thrilling and dangerous and stupid, but my adrenaline is up, my heart beating in my throat, my fiery eyes narrowed as I glare at him.

He's practically shaking in place, but when I reach to cup his face and pull him unthinkingly into a kiss, he reacts and shifts forward, pressing against me, arms wrapping around me. The bed is right behind me, so as he keeps pushing forward I tug him back as I fall onto the mattress, my fingers gripping now at his tunic. His hands are all over me, above my clothes, feeling how my body reacts beneath it, warm and taut.

The kiss parts and I gasp, breathless, my back arching as he lowers his mouth to my throat to suckle on it, his fingers working at the laces by my sides. "I'm still furious with you" I mutter, even as he pulls my shirt off above my head.

His lips pull away from my throat, and he crushes them against my own, kneading hard at my breast while his other hand slips into my pants. He's not as talented as Maili, but he's determined, and my legs part as he looms over me on all fours, scowling at me even as he touches me. "Do you _ever_ shut up, Sulwyn? Just once?!" he hisses down at me, glaring at me even as I arch my back and grit my teeth. His fingers are _far _larger than Maili's are.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, and both of us freeze. My eyes widen, and the color drains from Reginald's face, and both of us remain silent as the knock comes again. "Miss?"

It's Maili's voice.

Now our eyes widen further, and he and I scramble off the bed. In an effort to get my tunic on as quickly as possible, I accidentally elbow him in the back. Because we're so wound up, he shoves me on the chest, which sends me sprawling on the mattress, and there's a split second where I can see he wants to follow suit. But he doesn't, and he helps me back to my feet, tightening the cording on my tunic quickly as I call out "Yes?"

Maili's voice sounds nervous as she asks "Miss, are you alright?"

By now, Reginald has the cording finished off, and I just remember to grab a cloth and wipe down his fingers, which are (oh my god) glistening because of me. When I look at his pants, well, I shove him into an arm chair, and he just gets the hint and crosses one leg over the other, adjusting his tunic to hide it, as I swallow and walk over to the door.

When I open it, Maili's waiting out there, looking as nervous as she sounded. In a whisper, she asks "Did that large man hurt you?"

I blink, then shake my head. "No... no of course not."

She nibbles her lip. "Some people were saying things, like he hit you." With a little gesture to my face, she adds "There was a mark on your face."

Shit.

"Ah... um... yes, well..."

Reginald grunts in his chair, his sour, angry expression back on. "She was being hysterical, so I brought her back to her senses."

Maili's eyes widen, having only just noticed him. "Sir! Oh, I'm so sorry to intrude."

He scowls at her, and she positively wilts under his glare. At least, until I glare at him and he turns his gaze away. Looking back at her, I place my hands on her shoulders. "Maili, I'm fine now. Reginald and I are discussing what happened."

She looks up into my eyes, and I know that she knows. Especially when her eyes flick down to my throat. Gods above, did he leave a mark there? Shit. When her gaze meets mine again, she relaxes and smiles secretly. "Will you be needing anything else tonight, Miss?" she asks softly, but I shake my head. She nods, gives me one last smile, and makes her way back down the hall.

I move back into my room, close the door, and lean back against it, closing my eyes. "You need to leave right now" I mutter, and I can hear the chair creak as he stands up.

His footsteps approach, and when I look up into his eyes I can tell that the anger was just an act for Maili's benefit. Or, rather, any able-eared busybodies. "Yes... I probably should."

Of course, I'm still leaning back against the closed door, and despite wanting to, I can't really make myself move to let him leave.

He looks at me crossly. "Sulwyn..."

No, no no no. I will not get into another argument. That just leads to my shirt coming off, and kissing, and... "Is it truly forbidden?" I ask suddenly.

Reginald blinks, then looks off at the side, trying to think. "It's not encouraged. But templars needn't take vows of chastity. I never did."

Incredulously, I demand "are you seeing someone else?!"

He spreads his arms out in a helpless gesture. "Am I seeing _you_?!"

"I don't know, are you!?" I grip at his tunic, then blink and let go, moving my hands behind my lower back to keep myself from misbehaving. Because that's been going great so far, this evening.

His features soften, and he admits softly "I want to."

"I... can't believe I'm saying this..." I grumble, rubbing at my temple "...but I do, too."

Reginald seems almost unable to comprehend not being rejected. "Wait. No, wait a moment..."

I just glower up at him, daring him to call my notions stupid. Sucking in a deep breath, I say "I don't understand it, but I really like you, and I want to try this. Idiot." The last comes out by accident, but I don't apologize for it. It's so liberating not to be constantly apologizing to him.

His hand slaps against the door near my head, and he narrows his eyes as he presses in closer. "You're a stupid, dangerous mage, with foolish ideas and..." How can two people angrily, furiously kiss, both hot with attraction and irritation at the same time? I have no idea, but it's happening now, his body pressing me against the door.

All I want to do is make him angrier, but not really. Tease him? Push his limits? I'm not thinking clearly right now, but I tug his belt from its buckle and reach into his pants. His erection isn't hard to find, and he groans into my mouth, his nails scraping at the wood of the door as I stroke him. While he'd admitted to not having taken a vow of chastity, I can't imagine that he's been with anyone, at least for some time. Not with how close he gets, almost immediately.

"Sulwyn, I'm... A rag, please!" he begs against my lips, and I reach out with my free hand, summoning the cloth I'd used before to clean his fingers. I push up his tunic in the front, covering the sight of my hand on him with the rag. He holds it in place, then tenses, gritting his teeth. Beneath my fingers and palm I can feel his cock pulse. Is that what it's like when men cum? I wonder how that would feel inside me. The thought makes me close my eyes, and my cheeks burn hotly.

Very slowly I move my hand away, swallowing as I slide my palm and fingers on the cloth to clean them. I'm still so high strung that I'm shaking a little, but I still slip away from the door to let Reginald have his freedom. He looks tired as he sets his clothing back to rights, and I almost chuckle at him as he looks confused about the rag, not knowing where to put it. Finally I pluck it from his hand and hold it mine, until a small flame engulfs it and reduces it to cinders.

Softly, he mutters "I'm so glad you didn't do that to me," before opening the door and slipping out of my room. I press it closed after him, then crumple against it, my heated forehead finding some relief against the cool, dense wood.

Gods above... what am I doing?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next day is the time for my departure back to the circle. Evan is the saddest to see me go, and promises to find answers to all of my questions. Father and Owen make their goodbyes, and I'm provided with a small box, perhaps a foot in width and height, and two in length. I'm given a key on a necklace as well, for the box's lock, and I'm told to only open it when I get back to my quarters in the circle.

On the ride back, Cecilia sits with me in the carriage, and Reginald remains up with the driver. I'm both relieved and disappointed: relieved, because I know it'd be difficult to pretend, and disappointed because I was looking forward to the challenge. Instead, Cecilia's silent, stoic demeanor keeps me company, and the trip is uneventful and quiet.

It's about midday when we get back, and once again I feel a little sour about how geographically close I am to my family, but how distant they choose to be. I suppose there's nothing I can do about that, and I shoulder my satchel and pick up my gift box as I'm escorted back into the circle's walls. Because I've passed my Harrowing I get a room all to myself here. That's not the case in other circles, but it's a feature of this one.

I set my gift box down on my bed and take a seat on the mattress, carefully pulling the necklace up and over my head. The key fits neatly into the lock, and when I open the box I see many little parcels wrapped up in wax paper. One of them is warm, and when I open it up, I can see that it's a little group of cherry pastries, along with a note that said "I told you so, Miss." That makes me grin in spite of myself, and I set the pastries down on a plate on my bedside table. Well, most of them. I nibble on one as I unwrap everything else.

All in all, Father, Owen, and Evan worked together to make this a lovely Harrowing present. From Evan is a fine, silk cloak from Antiva in black and red, and from Owen there's a beautiful book about the history of Thedas. Father's gift is a journal and a beautiful set of pheasant quills, and a little note that says "_your words will always be free, my darling daughter._"

I'm still turning the note over when I hear a knock at the door. It's a formality, really – we aren't allowed to lock our doors, or even close them during the day. The mattress squeaks a little as Reginald takes a seat on it, dressed in his armor once again. He gives me a curious look, but I hand over my father's note to let him read it.

"That's very nice of him," he says softly, setting it back down on the journal.

I nod, balling up the packaging paper and setting my gifts back inside the box, save for the pastries. I offer him one but he declines politely, leaving us to sit in silence for a few moments. At last, he clears his throat. "I, um, spoke with Cecilia. About you and me. She took me to have a talk with the knight commander, who asked me many questions."

I can imagine, and I flush on his behalf. The rest of the little pasty is set aside, and I wipe my fingers clean on a handkerchief nearby. I'm wearing my circle robes again, and I'd rather not stain them – they're brand new, after all. "Yes?"

Reginald nods. "Yes, well. The knight commander would like to speak with you."

My stomach curls up into a cold, wet knot. "Am I in trouble?" No mage goes to speak with the knight commander for any happy reason.

His eyebrows lift in confusion, and then he shakes his head. "Oh, no. I think it's just to verify what I've asked about. To make sure that you consent, and all."

"Ah, right." I set the handkerchief aside, and brush the crumbs from my robe. "Then I should see him right away."

Reginald nods and gets to his feet, escorting me from my room towards the barracks and the main offices of the circle. I suppose word has gotten around, because as Reginald and I pass, some of the other templars either smirk or shake their heads, and I feel my cheeks heat up, their judgment tugging on me and making me nervous. We make it to the knight-commander's office, and Reginald waits as I'm allowed to come in alone.

The knight commander is an older human man, his hair neatly trimmed and entirely gray. Scars cross over his face, and his left ear is somewhat deformed from what looks like a healed burn. It makes me wince internally to see it – those are damages caused by spells and staff blades, I'd bet anything on that. Until he looks up and acknowledges me I am determined to remain polite and silent, looking down at my clasped hands.

Eventually he sets aside his paperwork and props his quill into its holder. His armor is more elaborate than the armor of the other templars, and I can see where it's dented or rent in places. Minor abrasions really, but marks of his service. "Sulwyn Trevelyan. Do you know why I've summoned you here today?"

I can't help but grow nervous all over again. It's that sort of doom-laying tone that I've dreaded forever, but I swallow. "Yes, Sir. Reginald told me of your discussion."

He inclines his head, and gestures to a chair opposite him, on my side of his desk. I gratefully take it, my knees feeling weak. "Now, is he coercing you into this relationship in any way?"

What an odd question. "No, Sir. He's not."

The knight commander nods, sorting through his papers until he finds the one he wants, then scans it for a second. "This is a report written by Cecilia Boudelair, your typical chaperon. She has noted time and again how Reginald antagonizes you, and how it is clear that you cannot tolerate his company." He sets the paper down. "You understand how my discussion today with the young man leaves me a touch confused."

"Yes, Sir, I'm... also a little confused. Not that I don't approve of what's happened. I mean..."

He interrupts my blithering, asking sternly "What's happened? Did something happen?"

Shit. "A... kiss, Sir. Two, actually." My cheeks heat up, and I look down at my hands. "It was a miscommunication, and I think that we got on each other's nerves, you see." The knight commander still looks unconvinced, and I wring my hands. "I was very upset at the harvest ball, Sir. News of Kirkwall – it's frightening, not just to me, but to everyone in Ostwick. In Thedas, I would imagine. Reginald took it upon himself to talk to me and calm my fears, and I saw then that he is terrible at expressing himself... but he's a very caring man. And he likes me a great deal, Sir."

The man behind the desk leans back in his chair, and nods. "News from Kirkwall has gone from abysmal to even worse. One would think that with the blight over, peace would replace it. While I will not offer explanations for templar _or_ mage actions in Kirkwall, I want you to know that I consider it my duty to protect you first, as well as the other mages. Thedas is an increasingly dangerous place for you, and while the Chantry believes you should be kept in a circle for your protection, it is up to me to try and toe the line between this place being a sanctuary and a prison."

I appreciate what he's trying to say, but I'd imagine that the templars in Kirkwall said such things once upon a time. And now look at them.

"That being said, I'd like to try and offer proof of my convictions. A blight has just ended, and Ferelden's hero was a mage. If she hadn't been allowed to fight against evil, I cannot imagine where Thedas would be. Because dark days may well be coming again, it is unfair to leave mages at the mercy of the world without any way to protect themselves. Therefore, I believe it is time to implement some new courses into the physical education curriculum, and self-defense, both using magic and not using it, will be included."

That makes me blink, my lips just barely parted as I sit there, completely in shock.

The knight commander chuckles, gesturing towards me. "Do you have any opinion on such an addition, Sulwyn?"

"Oh, no, Sir! I mean, I think such a thing would be a marvelous idea. It would put minds at ease, both on the mage side and the templar side. I can only imagine it to feel burdensome to protect a population who is forbidden from protecting itself."

His eyes narrow a little, and he smiles. "You're quite perceptive. You are, indeed, your father's daughter."

That makes me smile proudly.

"Since you are already tutoring many of the little ones, I would like you to become one of the instructors. You will, of course, receive your own instruction, so that you can properly teach a beginner's course. I will make arrangements to alter your duty roster, to give you time to train and practice."

I nod, feeling like this meeting has turned right around. It hasn't been terrible at all.

"One last thing, Sulwyn..." he adds, and I can tell by his tone that I'm not going to like it. "You are sixteen, and that is a little too young for me to feel comfortable with you having a relationship with anyone."

My face falls, and I just stare at him in disbelief. "But... Sir. I was old enough for the Harrowing..."

He nods. "Yes, but a young woman's mind matures faster than the rest of her. Engaging in a relationship of the sort you and Reginald desire, you must be prepared for the physical consequences, if there are to be any. Which is why I am merely asking you to consider waiting for a year. I am not forbidding you from being with him, or him courting you. I am not, in fact, forbidding anything, only advising caution. You are, of course, old enough to make your own choices, and we trust that you aren't in danger of possession."

I nod, feeling like I've been given both permission and been denied it at the same time. It's terribly confusing, but even so I simply say "I understand, Sir, and I thank you for your consideration."

"You're welcome, Sulwyn. You may go."

I'm mostly out of the chair, when he adds "of course, if Reginald starts genuinely acting like a bastard again, do tell me about it. We can't have mages setting their templars ablaze, no matter how much those templars might deserve it, hmm?"

Oh gods, don't laugh at that. I just manage to incline my head and maintain my composure as I exit the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

For the next few months, Reginald and I take things slow. It's difficult to find any privacy, and that's the primary obstacle. Still, despite the frustration, it's nice to see that he's willing to be patient. I notice, too, that his shifts coincide with where I'll be more often than not. And when they aren't, I'll make it a point to slip him a sweet as he stands guard in a hallway. Sometimes when I get back to my quarters at the end of a long day, I'll see that he's left a lovely little flower on my desk, and a letter to let me know how his day has gone.

My new assignment as self-defense instructor occupies most of my time. For the first few weeks, my trainer put together a collection of exercises for me to do in the morning and at night to get me in better shape. Eventually they all stopped hurting and became easier, until at last I began joining the off-duty templars for their morning runs. Being unable to really do anything physical with Reginald, it's been nice to at least do this. It's a far cry from tarrying behind a closed door, but it feels satisfying to be able to keep up with him and show that I'm more than just a book worm.

However, the templars weren't willing to share their shower room. Especially since the gossip about Reginald and I had been proven true, it was just too much to ask for us to be naked in the same place. So after every run, I head to the mage showers and clean myself there. Some of the senior mages look at me now like I'm some strange creature, like a hybrid of mage and templar. They disapprove of how Reginald and I interact, and I don't know if it's their propriety, or if it's some sort of jealousy that I'm doing what they've maybe wanted to do themselves but never dared. I try very hard not to rub it in their face. Everyone's been very kind to me since I'd been taken to the Ostwick tower. I don't want to burn any bridges, especially since this is going to be my home for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately, word from Evan says that transfers to Antiva from the Free Marches have all been routinely denied. I can't really blame them for that.

To get through my disappointment I've just worked harder. After my runs, I stretch in the quiet gymnasium, finding at least a little privacy. It gives me time to meditate about the lessons I'll be giving later in the day, and what the children and apprentices will need to work on. Some of them are coming along very well, and others are lagging. They'll all get there, I'm certain of it. Things are worse than ever in Kirkwall, and every mage has been keeping up to date with the news. It's inspired all of them to learn at least a little of the most basic skills, and a few of the younger mages have taken to joining the templars on their morning or evening runs.

On this lovely spring morning I can feel how the day will be warmer later. The song birds chirp and sing, and the crashing of the waves on the shoreline can be heard faintly even from here. By now I've found that it's easier to train with short hair, so I've cut my long locks all off, opting for something shaggy and military. It leaves me looking pretty androgynous, especially when I dress in a pair of loose trousers and a snug vest for combat training, as I have today.

Mornings are my favorite part of the day, because around this time I can always count on the sharp step of Reginald's boots echoing across the planked floor. He's dressed like I am, his wiry body still somewhat taut from the run this morning. Mine has tightened up a little too, and I know that he's noticed.

To tease him, I continue with my stretches, ignoring him as he plucks up a staff and a practice sword. I'm just bending forward, gripping my feet and stretching out my legs as I sit on the mat, when the staff clatters on the floor in front of me, startling me. I glare up at him, and he smiles that insufferable smile of his. "You mages are so lazy. Always sitting down when there's work to be done."

With a heave, I'm up on my feet, the staff in my hand. "I've heard that you'd prefer me on my back."

"Oh, you've heard that," he says disdainfully, lifting his sword to begin the sparring session. The tip of his sword aims for my stomach, but I shift to the side, deflecting it with part of the staff, then rotating the length of it to push against his arm and shove him away. "And who did you hear that from?" he calls back, his bare feet firmly coming to rest on the floor.

"Certainly not the people who say you prefer me on my knees." I let the staff twirl lazily, loosening up my wrist as I smirk at him.

He smiles, then feints in. I just manage to dodge and parry it, but he pivots on a foot and cracks the flat of his practice sword on the outside of my thigh. Shit, that hurts. Part of the training is to ignore things like that, so I move away by a few steps, putting the staff between me and him again.

"You're favoring your leg. Don't make it so obvious," he quips, lunging in and forcing me to use that hurting leg or be jabbed in the chest. Instead, I turn on the other leg and lean my torso back, letting the sword go where it had intended without me there. My hand grabs his wrist and pulls him forward, and I crash my knee into his ass to send him on his way. Reginald sprawls forward, especially since I trip up his foot with mine. The landing looks painful, but the jackass deserves it for that little move with my thigh.

Reginald gets up with a groan, and I stand at the ready until he holds up a hand. That's the signal that he's a little too hurt to continue, so I move the staff to one hand while I help him walk over to a bench with the other. He sits down, and I can see that he's injured his wrist. I take up the practice sword from him and walk it back to the racks, and then come back to sit next to him.

While I take his wrist in my hand and chill my palm to ice the sprain, I mumble "I'm sorry. That was a cheap move."

He hisses a little, but soon enough the cold I make with my magic helps dull the pain. "I taught it to you. It's only fair." Reginald presses a quick kiss to my cheek, and I smile, enjoying the quiet time to sit with him. "Do people really say those things?" he asks in earnest, looking at me.

I just shrug. "Tongues wag, and sometimes the wagging gets pretty crude."

His eyes narrow. "Templars?"

My laugh hardly echoes in the large empty space. "No, mages, if you can believe it. Chastity doesn't suit some of them."

He nods. "I can't imagine it'd suit anyone."

For a moment I grind my teeth, and grumble "well, it doesn't suit _me_." I look at him, a little frustrated, and he smiles sympathetically.

"I know. But I'm afraid I'd be no good to you right at this moment. My wrist hurts." He wriggles his chilled fingers, and I scoff.

"You templars are supposed to perform despite the pain."

He sniffs. "Let me strike your thigh a few more times, and we'll see how well you perform."

My eyebrows waggle. "Better than you could, you big baby."

Our bickering might as well be foreplay, or as close as we can get to it. I can see a little sparkle in his eye, even as he frowns at me. "Big baby? You can hardly keep up with me. You're soft and spoiled."

"If I'm soft, that's because you're not hard enough to harden me." That didn't make much sense, but it sounds filthy enough to be amusing.

He almost cracks into a smile, but contains himself just in time. In a straight, angry voice, he hisses "I want to press you against the shower wall and eat you out until you scream."

My face flushes hotly and I lose my train of thought. And then I realize this was the whole plan, and I scowl at him, removing my hand from his wrist. "You can go find your own ice, jackass." The sound of his snickering follows me as I leave the gym, and damn him but I can't get that particular image out of my mind all day.

By the close of lessons and the ringing of the dinner bell, I'm still feeling moody and distracted. Reginald is back on duty, his wrist bandaged for the slight sprain suffered. I'm back in my circle robes by the time I come down to dinner in the dining hall, and I carry my tray to my preferred spot in the room, towards the corner. In here, the templars wear their helmets, their faces hidden almost entirely. Still, I can tell which one is him, based on the scuff marks towards the side of his chest plate. Every so often he looks over at me, and I look at him, letting him know that I'm still perturbed because I'm still thinking about what he said. I just know that he's smiling behind the mask.

Later on in the evening I join the templars for their run. Reginald is there, wrist still bandaged but looking back to his old self. Some of the templars chat with each other as we round the track, but I stay silent if only because I want to loudly give him a piece of my mind. Or shove him down on the track and have him. One or the other. When we head inside, I part ways with them, glad for a little solitude in the mage's showers.

Generally speaking, I have the mage's shower room all to myself past the dinner bell, so I know I won't be disturbed. I tug the rubber privacy curtain closed, then pull the lever to start the plumbing mechanism going, and soon warm water sprinkles down from the nozzle overhead. It feels good to rinse off all the sweat, and I make sure to do that first. Then I lean my shoulders back against the tile wall and part my legs just a little as my right hand slides down my stomach.

My eyes slide closed as my fingertips caress over my secret flesh, and every time they stroke over that sensitive, special spot, I lift up onto my toes, mouth open in a silent moan. My hand moves faster and faster, and my fingers, two of them, slide up into myself. I've gotten pretty adept at pleasuring myself, given that no one else here is allowed to do it. Every single time I touch myself in the nighttime showers, I hope beyond hope that Reginald will forget his resolution and sneak into the showers, strip down, and just do... everything to me. I'm not even sure what I'd want him to do first, I only know I'd want him to do it a lot, as hard as he can.

Eventually I achieve what I can. The pleasure I give myself just isn't as good as the sort Maili gave me, or what I was feeling from Reginald that night. But it's all I have to keep my wits together for the time being, so it will have to do. After that, I rinse off, move the lever again to shut off the water, and grab a towel to dry off. I almost hope that I don't see Reginald for the rest of the night, if only to give me time to cool down. Even having gotten myself off, it's only really stoked the flames higher.

I'm back in my room, ready to turn in for the night, and to my relief there's no sign of him. An hour of reading my book, and I'm just about ready to snuff out my candle and go to sleep... and then I notice the little flower on my desk, on top of a folded note. I expect it to be a note about how his day has gone, the typical.

But it's not.

It's a sketch. Of Reginald, doing exactly what he said he'd do to me this morning. I know he likes to draw, but this is very good. And extremely explicit. My cheeks flare up with heat, and I look up at my door, which magically slams shut. Already my secret flesh aches, throbbing with need, and as my eyes rove over every detail of the picture, I can feel it. His face between my legs, his hands on my ass, and the wet, cool tile of the shower stall against my back as the warm water rinses over us both. He's drawn in his own erection, and I remember what it felt like, on the night of the harvest ball.

Oh... that _bastard_.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The anniversary of my Harrowing comes and goes, and the last few months are particularly stifling. Both of us have guessed, and rightly so, that if we comply with the knight commander's request, our relationship will be given full sanction later on. I've no assurances of that, but it's the best chance we have of anything truly out in the open.

At long last, the harvest ball comes around again, and once again I'm invited to come back home. Reginald and Cecilia come with me, and I'm feeling impatient and nervous for a completely different reason this time. Just like last year, we arrive at the manor house, though this time when Reginald fetches a steward to deal with the bags he's less of a prick about it. In point of fact his attitude is far more patient and professional.

I head to my quarters, which haven't changed much since the last time. My memories are vivid – of kissing Maili, of tarrying with her up in the supply room, of being pushed onto the bed with Reginald, and bringing him off by the door. I had more sexual accomplishments in that two day span than in the whole year since then, which only makes me sigh. The longer I stay in here, the more my heart hammers. And it's not like I can just drag Reginald in here to get it over with. What sort of attitude is that? The first time should be special, not an obligation.

So I let them both know that I'll be taking a walk through the house, and though Reginald gives me a look, I just ignore it and head out for a stroll. This time around I'm dressed in the Antivan silk cloak Evan gave me last year, which rests over a boddice in black and suede pants and boots to match. Every step makes the cloak flutter, it's fiery red interior flashing behind me like licks of fire. I'm not sure where I'm going, until at last I'm descending the steps to the kitchen.

Nan is there as always, and she gives me the same affectionate greeting she always does. There are no pastries waiting for me this time, which is a little disappointing. But what's more disappointing still is the news that Maili went back to her clan. I suppose it was time for them to move, but I'll miss her. She and I would occasionally send letters back and forth, and I wanted to give her a little gift, to celebrate her engagement to the nice Dalish boy she'd met last spring.

I promise Nan that I'll go speak with father, and I do, though the conversation is more or less the same as last year. Owen is off in Nevarra with his new wife for a little while, and Evan has written to say that he won't be able to attend this year. Bronwyn and Bran are still off training, and father seems even more distracted and busy than usual, so my rounds of catching up are very quick. I swing my Cecilia's room, but she's attending to business elsewhere, so I stop by Reginald's room instead.

The door's left open, so I just slip inside, knocking on the jamb out of habit. He looks up from a book he's reading and smiles a little. "Heading outside?" Somehow he looks really cute, sitting in that easy chair with his armor still on, book in hand.

I shrug. "In a while. I'm not really _needed _anywhere..." I drawl, wandering over to the window and, casually, pulling the drapes closed. A little gesture from my hand, and the door closes itself, and locks.

Reginald closes the book and sets it aside. "And do you think that I'm off duty? That I might not have better things to do?"

For a moment I pause, halfway between him and the window. "Oh... you're still on duty?" He nods, and I wince. "So you need to keep your armor on?"

Both of us look at each other, and I'm pretty sure I have a seriously debauched look on my face, because he has one on too. I move over to him and slide my hands through his short, black hair, grinning as he gauntleted hand grips me by the arm and moves me back towards the stone wall. "What, you think you can just touch a templar like that?" he asks, playfully incredulous, even as his other armored hand moves down between my leggings to rub at my hidden, secret flesh.

"No, Sir" I breathe softly, enjoying the game. Not the sort they play in Orlais, but the "templar taking advantage" game. I suppose in light of what's happening in Kirkwall it's in terribly bad taste, but no one there has to know about it.

"Good. You're not a bad piece of ass, little mage whore," he growls, pressing his chest plate against me, pinning me to the stone.

My eyes go round, and I falsely tremble. "S...Sir?" I ask in my most convincing voice, all while getting seriously aroused.

He lowers his face to loom near mine, breathing in the scent of my skin and hair, and I close my eyes, holding my breath like I'm scared of him. Gods above, this really is somewhat twisted, but I love it. And so does he, judging by the solid bulge grinding against my lower belly. "Get on your knees."

The stone scrapes against the back of my tunic as I sink down, my hands already working at his belt and the lacing of his trousers beneath his drapings. It's a skirt, but templars hate it when you call it that. Soon enough I have his cock free, and one gauntleted hand is on the back of my head while the other pulls up the drapings to reveal himself. "Be a good little mage bitch, now," he grunts, his hand pressing firmly on the back of my head until I take him into my mouth.

To say that we've been 100 percent celibate might be a falsehood. No part of our play would ever risk a pregnancy, certainly, so at least there's that. But this isn't my first try doing this, and that's all I'll say about it.

His cock twitches as it sinks into my mouth, my tongue rubbing hungrily along the bottom of it. I can't take all of him, but he doesn't seem to care, his armor clinking and clanking just a little as he thrusts shallowly past my lips. Somehow the sound of that sets me on fire, and I close my eyes, my right hand sliding into my pants as I rub at myself.

"Shall I take you today?" he purrs, sliding his metallic fingers through my short hair. I think the fact that I go 'mmmhmm' into his cock makes him groan, a small salty trickle wetting my tongue.

No time is wasted after that – he gets me to my feet and moves me towards the bed, though I cling to one of the upright posts at the foot of it. Seeing that I'd rather be standing, he simply pulls my pants down to my knees, pushes up my tunic, then crouches behind me. I'm confused for a moment, up until he uses his thumbs to part my flesh a little, and his tongue is suddenly sliding hotly along my secret flesh, tasting me all the way along.

It takes every bit of will power I have not to cry out or groan like a whore, and I'm shaking as I press my lips together tightly. His tongue is sinfully good, and I grasp at the post even more tightly as he snakes it deeply inside of me, tasting how ready I am for him. I'm barely managing to keep standing when he moves in behind me and lines up his body with mine. It's a snug, slow process, and I'm glad I've for the post to keep clinging to. Reginald grits his teeth, trying not to make too much noise, but I can tell he's loving it as much as I am.

"Oh gods above, Sulwyn..." he gasps, breaking character. I can't really blame him.

"I'm ready for you. Just do it" I mutter hotly. I shiver when his gauntlets grip at my hips, and he holds them still as he thrusts hard, sheathing himself. It hurts for a moment and I tense, gritting my teeth, but that's all. I feel his hand slide over my back to comfort me, and I look at him over my shoulder to reassure him that I'm alright.

Honestly, I'm better than alright. I've been waiting so long for this.

After he's had a moment to adjust, he starts having me in earnest. My nails bite into the wood and I press my cheek against the cold surface. Hearing his armor jingle, and feeling the brush of his drapings against the backs of my legs, it's something only a mage could really fetishize. Suddenly I notice his right gauntlet flying through the air, tossed to the bed, and then I feel his hand slip around my hip to between my thighs. His calloused fingertips find my sensitive spot and caress and rub in firm, quick circles, making my knees almost buckle.

"Reginald!" I bark, biting my lip directly after as his fingers work even harder. I swear I can hear him snickering even as he forces that pleasure right into me, and I grit my teeth, shivering and tense as a wire, holding my breath. My body tightens up around him, and the templar only has a few thrusts left to him before he crushes his hips in against mine and finishes. I can feel him do it, his prick pulsing. After a few moments, he gasps out his held breath, and slowly withdraws himself from me and cleans himself before setting his clothing to rights.

With shaky hands I pull my pants up and smooth my tunic back down, my vision a little hazy with everything that's just happened. That or bliss. Probably bliss. My hand moves away from the bed post, and I gesture to the chair. "Sit."

I think he's too post-coital to really argue, so he clanks back over to his reading chair and sits, watching me as I come and slip into his lap. It's a little thing I've always wanted to do, that I've even dreamed of doing ever since our relationship began. Despite the hard shell of the armor, resting my head on his shoulder is comforting, and he wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my temple. I'd much prefer to lie with him naked in bed, idle and hedonistic, but we don't have the luxury of time for that sort of thing.

His lips move against my temple as he whispers "you know, I could do you in this chair. Just nudge the draping aside and pull your hips over."

Despite having just been put to proper and satisfying use, my secret flesh aches with desire, and I close my eyes tightly. "Gods above, Reginald..." I groan softly, gripping at his chest plate.

His gauntlet slides over my thigh suggestively, and his voice is a little deeper as he admits "I fantasize about it all the time." Everything about this makes me shudder with want, and he adds "especially if you were to wear your circle robes, with nothing underneath them."

My cheeks blaze with heat and I bite my lower lip, his gauntlet wandering in between my legs to caress at the crotch of my pants with slow firmness. "Reginald!" I hiss, frowning at him. What if he causes me to make a spot? While I glare at him, he pulls me in to kiss him, and immediately the tension of my irritation utterly melts until I'm actually straddling his lap. His armored hands grip and knead at my ass, and when the kiss parts he growls "I'm going to have you so many times tonight, in all the ways you and I want."

"Yes... yes, finally," I breathe, pulling him in for another kiss.

Neither of us are really ready to have a go at it so soon after, but it still feels oh so good to grind against his gauntleted touch. Still, I should probably clean myself up, and after having just been made a woman so thoroughly, that's going to require a bath, and I explain as much. Reluctantly I pull away from him, leaving him looking a little disappointed but understanding as I leave the chair.

I'm nearly at the door before I hear the swift clanking of his running step, and he grabs my wrist, spinning me around to press against him. "Sulwyn," he gasps, hugging me tightly. "I love you so much."

I hug him back as well as I can, which isn't easy given the armor, and I whisper "I love you, too, Reginald." He lets me go and holds the door open for me, and after I try and set my hair into some semblance of innocent order, I slip out into the hall and make for my room to get my toiletries.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Perhaps an hour later, once I've soaked in the tub for a while, steeping in my utter bliss, it occurs to me that I've neglected a very important duty. Guilt starts to writhe around in my guts, and I bitterly drain out the tub, dry off, and get dressed again. Because I have to go outside for this I'll need an escort, so I seek out Reginald.

Once again I knock at his door, and when he looks up he notices the tension in me right away. "What's wrong?"

"Would you accompany me on an errand out on the grounds?" I ask, not wanting to really get into it.

He nods, and sets the book aside before getting up from the chair. I precede him, not wanting to make conversation. I know my attitude is something of the polar opposite to how I left him before, but he's taking it in stride and giving me my space.

The path to my destination is narrow but still clear. Father walks it every morning, I'm fairly sure. Reginald follows along quietly, until at least we come to a small headstone in a clearing. Flowers grow all around it, and I sigh. "Hello, Mother."

The templar remains back just a little bit when he realizes what this is, and after glancing at him I turn back to the headstone. "Things are going well at the circle. I'm not an abomination yet, which makes it eleven successful, unmonstrous years. If you would, please ask Andraste to allow me another one. I'd really appreciate it." I take in a deep breath, feeling stupid for being nervous. "Mother... this is Reginald. He's a templar. I also like him, quite a lot, romantically. He's a very nice man, and I hope one day things will be easier. Because they aren't now. But... at least they're better."

I'm starting to feel anxious, so I swallow. "That's it for this year, mother. Thank you for seeing me into the world before you left it." I turn on my heal and walk back down the path, feeling unaccountably foolish. Saying these things feels proper when I'm alone, but with Reginald watching? I'm just saying gibberish to a stone.

About halfway back to the house, Reginald asks "Sulwyn?" He says my name twice more, until at last his gauntlet comes to rest on my shoulder and I stop walking on reflex. My eyes lower to my hands, my body tense. He circles around to stand in front of me, but I don't meet his gaze, stubbornly looking down at my fingers.

"I wouldn't even blame father for hating me" I say softly. "She died in childbirth. I lived, and she didn't."

My handler breathes out slowly, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's not your fault."

My teeth grit, and I turn my head away.

He turns my chin towards him, making me look at him. "It isn't. None of this is your fault. Not your magic, not your mother dying."

An unexpected tear rolls down my cheek, and I shakily ask "then whose fault _is_ it?"

Reginald gently gathers me up, and despite pressing against his hard armor, I feel comforted. It's familiar. It's a sensation I know. "The Chantry would say that the Maker made the world, and everything that's ever happened has been his plan."

With my eyes squeezed shut, I whisper "is that what you believe?"

He caresses my back. "I'm a templar, and I'm supposed to believe what the Chantry says. But sometimes... sometimes I think that evil things just happen, for no reason, and it's up to forces of good, like Andraste, to put them right again. All you can do is hope for something better if you try hard enough."

I'm caught off guard, when he urges in barely more than a whisper "you should run away, Sulwyn."

I tense and look up at him, not believing that I'd heard him correctly. But his sad features make it clear that I hadn't misheard, and I just shake my head. "No, I couldn't. I'm no apostate. I don't want to hurt anyone." And then realization hits me. "No... oh no, Reginald... you've been training me how to fight templars if I have to."

His gaze lowers with guilt, and I shove him in the chestplate, causing him to shift back a step. He hardly resists, finally caught out now.

"Reginald! I'm not going to run away!" I insist.

His eyes darken and meet mine, and he demands "And what if the templars here start causing the same abuses the ones in Kirkwall are inflicting right now? Sulwyn, I hear news that you don't. Some of them use the mages for sport, passing the girls around like _pets_. Not like the games we play, but like they're slaves. I can't let that happen to you. I can't let you be made tranquil. I can't let it happen!" The terror in his voice is intense – this has clearly been bothering him for some time.

I want to try and comfort him, and assure him that such things will never reach Ostwick, but I don't know that. He seethes silently, calming slowly, and I remain with my eyes closed, pressing my hand to the side of my face. Finally I say "alright... if... if Ostwick becomes corrupted, like Kirkwall is being corrupted... I will do what I need to. And I expect you to do the same."

He looks up at me, sighing softly with relief. "I'll find you. No matter where you need to go, I'll find you." His gauntlets collect my slender, white hands, and he caresses his thumbs over my knuckles. "I promise, Sulwyn."

Unfortunately, the worst happened that year. The situation in Kirkwall exploded, their chantry was destroyed in a giant ball of light, and both the first enchanter and the knight commander were killed by the sudden and vicious fighting. Circles all over Thedas were shut down. Some of them were purged, while others simply opened their doors to give the mages a chance to get away. Ostwick's circle wasn't technically a circle any longer, but many mages remained there, to show that we were neutral and not giving in to the rebellious hysteria that would drive all Thedas against us.

Because of the desperate situation in Kirkwall, where the only mages left that hadn't fled were maleficars or skulking abominations, many of the templars in the Free Marches were transferred there to assist with rebuilding under the command of the new knight commander. That was a difficult day, when Reginald left. Our true relationship was nascent, only weeks old, but I knew that he had his duty to attend to. Rebuilding wouldn't be so bad, and soon things would settle down, now that the horror had come to a head and been purged.

But I was wrong.

The mage rebellion continued for years, and the templars that had left Ostwick didn't return. A few of them stayed in Kirkwall of their own volition to continue doing good works, but the majority left altogether when the order seceded from the Chantry, to join the grand mage hunt all over Thedas. Under no one's jurisdiction but their own desire for vengeance and the fury of their lyrium addiction, the templars caused as much trouble as the rogue mages.

For quite a long time, Reginald and I exchanged letters. Sometimes he was given leave to come back to Ostwick to visit, but those times were few and far between. And then, without warning, his letters stopped coming. I didn't want to accept the possibility that he was dead, but with the land in such chaos, record keeping was sporadic and imprecise. So I waited, and helped those who had stayed in Ostwick's circle, trying to wait out this terrible time while maintaining some sense of tradition and normalcy. In time I found myself to be one of the more senior mages, not because of my age, but because I was one of the few powerful mages who'd elected to stay.

In 9:41 Dragon, I was selected to represent Ostwick at the Conclave in Haven. Led by the Divine, this seemed like the first real chance to bring peace to Thedas, and possibly even create new laws to grant mages their freedom. During that year even more chaos broke out. The Conclave was destroyed by a creature so ancient and powerful that few could comprehend him. Everyone there died but me, and it was a long time before I regained my memories of what had happened. I had known that there had been templar delegates there, but without my memories, I couldn't know if Reginald had been one of them. It ate away at me, giving me nightmares, so I devoted myself entirely to the Inquisition, as it came to be named. Through shear, dumb luck, I was granted the power to save the world.

It took nearly a year of constant, grueling effort, violence, negotiation, and sacrifice, but the creature was eventually defeated, his pieces scattered back to the fade for good. The members of the Inquisition had become my friends, though after a while they returned to their lives. Dorian left, as did Vivienne. Leliana left to seek out the Hero of Ferelden, her beloved, and I wished her luck, knowing what it's like to be parted by time and distance. I heard, too, that Hawke finally returned to Kirkwall to be with Merrill again, and that made me happy to hear.

Still, it's 9:42, and it's been five years since I've seen Reginald. At this point I'm almost certain that I'll never see him again, and I hope that if he's alive, then at least he's happy and has started a family for himself.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Inquisitor!"

Shut up and leave me alone. I turn over in my bed in Skyhold and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the page frantically calling up the stairs for me.

"Inquisitor! I have an urgent message for you!"

Urgent message. They're all urgent these days. Corypheus is dead, but there's still the entire fractured world to stitch back together. I groan and rub my hands over my face. Nightmares again, last night. Hopefully Josephine can be sweet talked into brewing some of her strong Antivan coffee for me. "Yes, I'll be there. Just leave it on the top step."

The lack of movement makes me frown, and I know what's coming even before he says it. "Knight Commander Cullen insists that I place this in your hands, Inquisitor."

"Of course he does." I slip out of bed and pull on a dressing gown. It's not even sun up yet, as evidenced by the wan, purplish light creeping up over the mountains beyond my windows. My hair is still short and shaggy, and I come to stand on the top stair, scowling at the poor young elf as he timidly places the note into my hand. While I sigh and head back towards my desk, I can hear him racing off at top speed, his duty fulfilled.

The note is sealed with wax and his insignia, so I can be reasonably certain that this has actually come from him.

_Inquisitor,_

_Cassandra, as you know, is reforming the Templar Order and the Circle of Magi. It is not well known, but she is also developing a clinic to help templars who wish to be free of lyrium and follow a different path. There are a few applicants already, and in order to acquire the good faith of the local nobility, Josephine has suggested that you make an appearance, if only to assure everyone that none of the lyrium is red, of course. You seem to have a calming effect on influential people, and this is a worthy cause. _

_Cullen_

I suppose Cullen would know better than anyone how difficult it is to break a lyrium addiction. Plus, I try to make forays across Thedas every once in a while, to attend to any rifts I might have missed in the primary campaign against them. The veil has been weakened everywhere, and until it knits itself back up to normal, new rifts might split open unexpectedly. That day I pack my things, let Varric, Blackwall, and Iron Bull know to be ready to head out by sundown, and then I let Cullen know that I'll attend to this matter presently.

The clinic, which Most Holy Divine Victoria (I'm still not used to calling Cassandra that, not even in my head) has decided will be in Redcliffe, isn't terribly far from Skyhold. We ride to Lake Calenhad, then catch a ship along the coast to Redcliffe, where we're expected. The city is small, clinging to the lower bricks of the castle and tumbling down all the way to the shore. The clinic is perhaps a mile out, enjoying the peaceful view of the lake without the hustle and bustle of trade. Divine Victoria has left a small but capable collection of people here to oversee construction, and in the meantime, the very first applicants are being treated in a tent village in the clearing nearby. Cullen had asked that I make sure to check for cleanliness and the presence of counselors, to ease some of the former templars out of night terrors or mood swings. Both the hygiene he was hoping for and the attentiveness to the patients' emotional well being seems to be in good supply, so I instruct Varric to go mingle with the tradesmen while I suggest that Blackwall and Iron Bull make the rounds with the patients, to see how they're really doing.

That leaves me to ride back to Redcliffe to check on the Arl. We're still on somewhat delicate terms, but I think all in all he's grateful that I settled the matter of him having been ousted from his own city when I dealt with Alexius, Fiona, and the bulk of the rebel mages that had congregated in Ferelden. It feels good to have had them under my care, and while I was extremely reticent to hand them back over to the Chantry, Divine Victoria promised to work carefully with me to improve life within the circles across Thedas, and to allow all mages a greater sense of agency. So far she's kept her word, but at this point I have seen so many horrible things. I dare not cling to hope. It feels so reckless.

The Arl had invited a few of the local nobles to dinner that evening, and we discuss the impact the clinic will have. In the end, the greatest threat may be rogue templars trying to 'save' their brothers from freeing themselves of lyrium. While the mage-templar war is over, and has been for nearly a year now, Thedas is a huge place, with many nooks and crannies for people to cluster, ignorant of the greater dealings of the world. In time things will smooth over, but for now I don't want Redcliffe to regret its decision to afford these poor souls a chance for something better.

I get back to the clinic well after dark, and I can see there are a few campfires here and there. There's some singing, but generally the mood is sedate and contemplative. I can see that Iron Bull has charmed his way into a group of cheerful patients, while Blackwall sits with those clearly having a harder time. Varric spots me and trots over, the squat personality somehow still light on his feet, despite everything he's gone through.

"Your Inquisitorialness," he begins, and I close my eyes. I'm probably not going to like what comes next. He usually prefaces bad news with jokes. I look at him again, and he gives me an odd look. "I think some of the merchants are smuggling in lyrium. Ya know, just based on the way the masonry guys mingle with some of the patients on the edges of camp, with coin getting passed back and forth. But hey, maybe I'm wrong – maybe these guys just really like buying bricks for their very own."

I rub at my temple. "You've got to be kidding me. There are countless templars out there itching for the stuff, and they target those trying to get clean?" Varric just shrugs, and gestures towards the north end of camp. With a sigh I grumble "come on. I might need you to shoot some knees off, so they can't run."

"You got it." The dwarf pulls Bianca into his hands, and the four arms spring outward, the taut springs loaded with a bolt and ready for action in a moment.

Meanwhile, I pull my staff from its sling on my back, and carry it by my side as we take the long way around the camp to avoid being seen. I witness a deal going on, not yards away from the farthest campfire. It makes me furious, so I plunge the blade of my staff into the ground. The peddlers immediately go rigid, frosting over with ice, and the patients buying from them gasp and turn around. I stalk out of the shadows of a treatment tent, eyes narrowed. "If you don't want treatment, stop wasting our time. If you do, suck it up and deal with your pain. I want to believe that you were good people, caught up in something wrong. You're being given a chance that no other templars have been given, and you will _not _insult out charity by wasting it."

Most of the patients creep back to camp, handing me the vials they'd just purchased. Judging by how it looks, I'd say the quality is probably as poor as can be, cut with chalk or something else to fill it out. The frozen peddlers receive my attention next, and I call over Iron Bull to clap their half-frozen limbs in irons as Blackwall takes horse back to Redcliffe to round up a few guards. Clearly, the sparse allotment here haven't been enough. Within the hour, a prisoner transport, little more than a cage on wheels pulled by a pair of druffalo, arrives to take the criminals away for the Arl to deal with. Unfortunately, due to their addiction and the behaviors that causes, I instruct the increased number of guardsmen to keep watch around the perimeter of the camp.

Despite having been invited to spend the night at Redcliffe castle, I choose to make camp by the clinic. Because of my upbringing, it's always been an exotic thrill to sleep outside, unconfined by walls or watchful eyes. Varric tells me to get him if I need anything, but all I need is some time alone. I think he gets it, and he lets Iron Bull and Blackwall know where I'll be.

The sounds of the nighttime clinic are dulled by the distance I put between it and myself. On the other side is just open country, with the lake nearby and the mountains just rising up miles and miles away. Skyhold is in there somewhere. Another castle, another circle, this time made out of a mountain, more or less. And to think I've come so far.

My senses snap to alertness when I hear the sound of footsteps coming closer. Gods above, what now? Can I not get a moment of peace? Is the world ending all over again? I rouse myself from my tent, pushing open the flaps in the front, staff in hand and at the ready, when I see skinny figure picking through my rubbish pile. It doesn't occur to me what he's looking for until I remember that I'd smashed the vials of cheap, low-grade lyrium in the fire pit, and that must be what he's after.

He's so absorbed in his scavenging that he doesn't notice me crouching on the other side of it for some time. At last he must notice some small movement, and he gasps and scrambles back. A blast of something washes over me, and I thank my good luck that I hadn't been preparing a spell just then. It knocks me onto my back, and I know for a fact that this guy's a templar now.

Of course, now that he's done his little trick, I can do all of mine. I don't want to kill him – the wretch looks like he's two slaps away from the grave anyway, but I do jolt him with electricity, just enough to leave him twitching in the dirt. I quickly strip him of his weapons as he calms down, until at last I notice a necklace. There's a key on it. It's the one I gave Reginald when he went away the last time.

"Where did you get this?" I growl, gripping the key and pulling, lifting his shaggy head off the ground. He quibbles, offering fragments of bullshit, until I tug on the necklace and scream "WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?!"

He freezes in terror, and his hand shoots out to point back at the clinic. From his stammered speech I gather that he picked a man's pocket while he was sleeping. So I gather up the thief and march him back to the clinic guards, then I ask around about the owner of the key necklace, which I now have in my possession. A few of them aren't sure, but one of the medics takes me to a quiet set of tents. Inside, men and women sleep on padded cots, a lot of them talking softly in their sleep, clearly troubled and sweating.

"The man back there" the medic whispers.

For some reason I don't want to go in, my chest cramping up. "Are you sure I shouldn't come back in the morning?"

The medic just shakes her head. "It doesn't matter much with him. He made it here, somehow, and I think when he knew he was safe, he just fell quiet." She gives me a sad look, and says "It's like all he has left are his dreams."

I nod, squeezing my hand around the key. The figure at the end of the tent is hidden by shadow, with only the tips of his boots catching any of the moonlight that filters in. He's rail thin, and his clothing is half soaked with sweat. A scraggly beard hides the lower half of his face, and dirt smudges up the rest, but even so...

The cot is set low to the ground, probably to make it easy for the patients to get in and out of. I swallow and pull over a bucket, upending it to use as a stool. His head feels feverish as I gently lift it and slide the necklace back around his neck, my hands coming away slick with sweat and dirty grease. He shifts a little, reacting to being touched, and his eyes squeeze more tightly shut. In spite of that, a tear trickles out.

"It's all right," I say softly, "you'll be alright."

He shakes his head, sucking in some air through his nose. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't carry on like that." Swallowing past a dry throat, eyes still closed, he says softly "Every night I dream I'm with her, and every time I wake she's gone. I can't... I can't do this."

A tear slowly slides down my cheek, and I slide my hand into his. "Reginald... I'm here now."

I can feel him stiffen. Cullen's told me that hallucinations are part of the process. Who knows how many times he's heard my voice before, only to be crushed to find it wasn't real? But I give his hand a gentle squeeze, and he swallows again, opening his eyes to look. He gasps and sobs once, the hand not in mine lifting to his mouth to cover his shock. "Sulwyn?"

More tears come, but I can't stop smiling. "It's me, Reginald."

It's obvious that sitting up hurts, but he does it anyway, collecting me in his arms to hold me tightly against him. "I thought I'd lost you! Sulwyn, oh my Sulwyn! You'd been at the Conclave, and everyone had died but the Herald, and..." My eyes lower, and I can feel him pull away for a moment, just looking at me like I'm suddenly different. Not again. I don't want to be different to him. I look at him, begging him with my eyes not to push me away in shock or, worse, adulation.

He smiles a little, his shaking hand sliding over my hair. "You've accomplished so much... and you still have the same stupid haircut."

My cheeks hurt from how much I'm smiling. His snotty bullshit is so, so welcome right now. "At least I've remembered to bathe. It's 9:42 Dragon. Perhaps this year you should consider a hot shower."

Reginald smiles, though when he looks towards the moonlight it clearly hurts his eyes. I caress his shoulder, and say "stay here. I'll go and get you some..."

"NO" he barks, gripping my wrist. Some of the other patients in the tent whimper in their sleep.

I blink, and the medic pokes her head back in the tent. "Everything alright?" she asks softly.

"Oh... yes. Would you please fetch me some clean towels, a bucket of water, soap, and a shaving razor?"

That seems to catch her by surprise. "Inquisitor?"

Reginald gives me a strange look, and I mutter down to him "I collect titles like burrs. Don't worry about it." To the medic, I smile. "I'll take care of him. It'll be my pleasure." When the medic comes back in a few minutes and drops off the requested items, I can see the huge silhouette of Iron Bull bending over by the tent, peeking inside.

"Hey Boss? Everything good in there?"

My god, these guys are so nosy. Reginald is just staring at him, and I only remember just now that anyone who's spent time in Kirkwall might be a little wary of Qunari. "Yes, Iron Bull. And do keep Varric out."

Immediately the dwarf's voice complains from behind Iron Bull "What? I was just curious and HEY! I can walk back to the camp fire just fine! You don't need to carry me!"

Reginald looks confused, and I just clear my throat. "When you're feeling better, I'll explain everything." I slip out of my coat and push up the sleeves of my tunic as I soak one of the towels with water, then rub a little soap into it. "Take off your shirt."

Through his scraggly beard, I can see the former templar grin. "It's been ages since you told me to do that."

I try not to focus too much on how his ribs show, or the myriad scars that criss-cross his skin. The cold water on his feverish skin must hurt, but he doesn't complain. After a quick wash, I use the razor to tidy up his face. He remains still as a statue, trusting me, closing his eyes and moving his head as I direct him to. Within the hour, at least from the waist up, he looks like he used to, only older. I'm sure I look older too – I've gotten a scar on my forehead since he'd seen me last.

He looks over the edge of the cot at the water bucket, and he rubs at his now smooth jaw, smiling tiredly. "I've not looked this good in a long, long time."

"So the delirium persists, I see. That's a shame," I chide, cleaning off the razor with the wet towel.

Reginald chuckles, and asks "where are you camped tonight?"

"By the lake, a little ways off."

"May I join you? I need to get out of here. The place is full of sick, sweaty people," he says, sniffing derisively.

After pulling on my coat, I offer him a hand and he gets up very unsteadily. The medic rushes in to help, but I shake my head and offer her the bucket and used supplies in it. Thankfully she takes it, and I use both arms to help walk him out of camp. The fresh air seems to do him some good, though he keeps his eyes lowered to avoid the moonlight. When we get some fifty feet from my camp, I incinerate my rubbish pile to get rid of the remaining lyrium. The whoosh of the fireball as it leaves my hand makes him stiffen, and I chastise myself silently. He's been dealing with psychotic mages for years – that probably scared him terribly.

We manage to get the rest of him bathed in the lake, and I make a point to fetch him some clothing for tomorrow. Reginald suffers being cared for graciously, letting me wash him everywhere he needs washing. The air is warm tonight, so he's comfortable enough laying on a bedroll as I bandage some of his wounds. Pressure sores, mostly.

"So... the Inquisitor. The one who defeated the ancient evil, closed the breach, found a new divine, and brought the rogue templars and mages to heel." He turns the thought over in his head. "Honestly, you had five years, and that's all you managed to do with yourself?"

I just give him a look, turning my attention back to bandaging him before I smile too much. "Life got in the way, I suppose." There's the question I want to ask, but I haven't the heart to demand answers now. He's trying to do what's best for him, and he's suffering. I'm also not quite sure I want to hear it.

"Sulwyn..." he begins, but I just shake my head, putting away the medical supplies.

"Don't... not now. We can talk about everything when you're better, because you _will_ be better. And I'll be with you." A frightening thought occurs to me, and I look down at him. "That is... if you want to stay with me. I understand that it's been a long time, that you might have your own life now..."

Reginald grips at my arm, and I hold my breath, looking down at him nervously. "That was no life, where I was, doing what I did. I don't ever want to go back to that. Please let me be with you."

How can I say no to that?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The trip back to Skyhold takes a little longer, given Reginald's fragile health. I'm thankful all over again that Varric, Blackwall, and Iron Bull have always been very supportive of me, both in my efforts for the Inquisition and in more personal matters. Despite all of the atrocities we've seen with the red templars, my friends treat Reginald kindly, keeping him entertained with stories when he's well, and giving him privacy when he's not.

To my surprise, when we make it to the castle around midday, Reginald asks to be given a tour by Varric, and the dwarf only seems to happy to talk his ear off about this little detail or that one. It's difficult not to be overbearing, but I do my best. Plus, there are matters I need to tend to, and with both Leliana and Divine Victoria gone, it's just me and Josephine and Cullen.

Because of that, I ascend the tower stairway by the main gate to the knight commander's office. As always there are soldiers and stewards flowing in and out of the space, dropping off letters and reports, requesting signatures, and so on. When he sees me he sends everyone away, and waits until we're alone in the room to say "So, Varric sent some news about your visit to the clinic."

Of course he did. "Yes. In fact, I've come to talk to you about, perhaps, setting up a clinic here, for ex templars."

He seems somewhat torn. I know he's terribly busy, but I also know that he's eternally grateful for the help Divine Victoria and I gave him when he was freeing himself from his own addiction.

To try and sweeten the concept, I say "now, _you_ don't have to run it. I'm sure I can find qualified chantry sisters and mages to help ease the men and women through the process. All we'd need is space, preferably inside Skyhold's perimeter." Given that delusions and hallucinations are known to occur, I'd hate for one of the patients to tumble down the mountainside.

Cullen nods. "It's a good idea, I'll warrant. And god knows that there are plenty who want to leave that life, even while the order is being re-established." He looks up and me, and rubs at his chin. "Plus, if we make clinics available, more people might be willing to enlist, if they know they have a way out in the end."

"I know Divine Victoria..."

The knight-commander groans. "Why can't we just call her Cassandra in private?"

I take a moment to calm my irritation. "Because I need to train myself to address her properly, as do you. I don't want any member of the inquisition to be too familiar with her in public. She's having a difficult enough time implementing her reforms as it is."

Cullen just nods with a sigh. "Yes, alright. You were saying?"

He gets a slight scowl, but I carry on with "As I was saying, I know Divine Victoria doesn't want the templars to be slaves to the Chantry. Their servitude should be voluntary at all times, not forced. I'm certain that starting up a clinic here will get her support, and she can send whatever additional supplies we might need. Shall I write to her? Or would you prefer to?"

He glances at the stacks of paper on his desk, then looks at me. "I'll make you an offer. If you take care of all correspondence for this clinic, I'll tend to Reginald myself and see to it personally that he's comfortable. Will he be staying in your quarters?"

I hadn't really considered his accommodations. "Um... I'm... not sure." My cheeks flush slightly, and I feel embarrassed, asking my friends to help take care of my former lover, when I'm not even sure what we are anymore.

The knight commander looks distressed at my discomfort, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Perhaps it would be simplest to set up a small ward in one of the unused tower rooms. There are still suites available for guests, so if he desires privacy at night, he can go there. If he doesn't require a suite, just send a page to let me know. Will that do?"

The curling knots in my stomach clench, but I nod anyway. "Yes, thank you, Cullen. That will be fine."

As I'm leaving, I hear him calling for a few runners, who scribble down notes as he rails off a list of supplies and workers for getting the ward ready up on the battlements. I'm not needed for any of that, so I walk across the causeway towards the main keep. Solas's room, with its colorful murals, feels somewhat haunted. I'm not sure why he disappeared, but perhaps it was simply time for him to move on. He was the first, but certainly wasn't the last to go back to an old life.

Varric's laugh clatters down from the library to where I stand below, and I think I hear Reginald chuckle as well. I suppose the tour is still on, which should give me some time at least to wash up from travel and attend to the paperwork still burying my desk. I head out to the main hall, and while I want to turn right and through the door leading up to my chambers, my feet go left.

Josephine's office is as sumptuous and comfortable as ever, and she's predictably busy at work. I'm not quite sure how to bring this up, given how much of a gossip she can be, but I suppose if Varric's leading Reginald around the castle, everyone will know soon enough. If anyone has a bigger mouth than Josephone, it's Varric. At least for things that aren't sensitive in nature.

"Josephine..." I say in greeting, fidgeting a little with my hands.

Her head is down as she writes something quickly, her brow creased in concentration. "Inquisitor Trevelyan," she says on reflex, setting her quill into it's holder before looking up at me. "What can... Oh... are you alright?"

Do I not look alright? I clear my throat. "I'm fine."

She narrows her eyes a little. "And your visit to the clinic in Redcliffe went well?"

I don't quite meet her eyes. "Yes. A little trouble with lyrium peddlers, but that was dealt with. I'm thinking of running a clinic here, to provide additional support, actually. Cullen's working on setting up a ward now. How would that play out, politically?"

Josephine taps at her lower lip, then laces her fingers on her desk primly. "It depends on how we spread the word of it. We don't want to seem in opposition to Divine Victoria's efforts to restart the templar order, of course. But since she herself has set up the clinic in Redcliffe..." She pulls out a fresh sheet of paper and dips her quill in the ink well. "Let me write to her and a few others on how to best sell this, but I think it will be well-received. And I'm sure Reginald will be most charming as our first successful patient."

My lips press into a line, and I close my eyes with a sigh.

Perky as ever, Josephine smiles while writing. "Varric brought Reginald through here a few minutes ago."

"Of course he did. _Varric..._" I'm starting to appreciate Divine Victoria's exasperation.

The ambassador just giggles and attends to her writing, so I head back out to the main hall, then up into the wing where my quarters are. I really should sit down at my desk – I have so much work to do – but all I can do is pace back and forth, nibbling on my thumb anxiously. Varric knows to bring him here, doesn't he? Did I suggest that? Does Reginald know he's welcome up here? Has he come to harm?

Oh don't be stupid – a page would have been sent running, first with news of it, then excuses about it.

My cheeks feel warm, and I remember that I still haven't really washed off the dust from travel quite yet. A quick stop at the wash basin takes care of that, the cool water refreshing. Opening the windows helps too, but then a gusts lifts the drapes and sends all the paper on my desk fluttering all over the floor.

Before I can contain myself, my formless anger boils over and I shout "ANDRASTE'S _TITS_!" It's not like me to yell, much less yell a curse, and so when I close up the windows again I just lean my forehead against the cold glass to calm down. What's wrong with me? I've dealt with unimaginable strain before and succeeded, so why can't I just be calm now?

Because now I have a reason to persist. Now I'm feeling _all of it_.

"Sulwyn?" The familiar voice sounds concerned, originating from the top of the stairs.

I look over, tense, but to my relief it's just Reginald. "Did you enjoy your tour of the castle?" My attempt to sound relaxed falls flat, and my smile peters out almost before I stop speaking.

He walks over, looking around as he closes the distance. Even just a few days of care while traveling have made a huge difference, and while he still looks a little pale, he's not ghoulish looking anymore. "Ah... yes! Varric made it very entertaining. I'm guessing parts of it were made up, but I enjoyed them anyway." His eyes widen a little, and he just notices the mess all over the floor, and the clear desktop. Looking at me curiously, he asks "is that an invitation?"

My cheeks heat up a little, and I stammer on reflex "Oh, no, of course not." That makes him look a little confused, and then I clear my throat, pressing my fingertips against my temple. "I mean... I..." My self-consciousness leaks out as a sigh, and I slide my palms down over my pants to get rid of their clamminess, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know what I mean. I'm so terribly nervous with you here."

Reginald just chuckles, moving closer to slide his hand along my arm. "It's been a while. Five years ago things would have been different. But the world has changed. You've changed, I've changed. We... it'd be wrong not to get to know each other again... to give ourselves time."

My eyes meet his nervously. "What if you don't like what you learn?"

He snorts softly. "That you saved the world? I wouldn't like that?"

I can feel ice run through my veins, and I say plainly "I've killed people. A lot of people, in anger, in cold blood. I've done awful things, supposedly for the greater good. I'm not the Sulwyn you bickered with and trained in Ostwick." My words get shakier and shakier as I feel my eyes grow wet. "I'm... this _thing_. I feel nothing when I kill demons or bandits; it's just work. It's all just work, because it has to be. And I don't know how to stop feeling _nothing_! I don't..."

Before I can get out anymore, he interrupts me with a kiss. Despite everything, despite the long years of being apart, of worrying, of thinking him dead, of having died a little inside... despite all that, his kiss still feels the same. He pushes against me and makes me take a step back, then another, then another, until my legs press up against the front of my desk. When I place my palm on it, and feel his arms circle around me, I want him. Just him, just like I used to. That hasn't changed.

Yet there's something I have to tell him, and I part the kiss, whispering softly "I... I've been with others. I thought you were dead, and I..."

Reginald cups the back of my head gently, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Me too. I thought I'd lost you at the Conclave, but... nothing helped. Nothing made the hurt go away."

I nod. Nothing made the hurt go away for me either. Not tarrying with others, or killing, or even saving the world. I did those things because there seemed no other point to me carrying on. "I've missed you so much, Reginald" I whisper.

"And I've dreamt of you every night, being with you again. Seeing you smile and hearing you laugh..." His eyes close, and he shakes his head. "But you were gone. And I just... lashed out. The other templars wanted to hunt the mages who were hurting innocents. I was given so much lyrium, and it felt unimaginably good for a short time, but... I needed more and more of it, and I did anything to get more. I hurt so... _so_ many people. Innocent people, Sulwyn. I swore I'd never do that... I _swore_..."

I had suspected as much, but when he cups my cheeks and, eyes wet, declares with shame "Sulwyn, I would have killed you. Knowing it was you, I would have killed you for _lyrium_!"

His hands shake and my cheeks flush. "But that wasn't really you, Reginald."

He grits his teeth, and pulls his hands away. "It shouldn't matter. It would have been my hand. Andraste wouldn't care that I was out of my head! I'm sorry, Sulwyn! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

I'm not a medic – I don't know what to do or expect from lyrium withdrawal, save what I saw happen to Cullen – but even so I embrace him tightly, despite his shaking. It takes him a long time to calm down, but he doesn't fight me as I hold him and guide him to sit on the edge of my bed. In the softest of voices I ask "Is this what you wanted to tell me, that night in Redcliffe?"

Miserably he nods. "Not a terribly good topic of conversation for a reunion... but... I wanted to tell you, so if you wanted to send me away, you could do it quietly. You don't need rumors of having some lyrium addict complicate your life."

My laugh has just a little chastisement in it, and I slide my hand through his hair, which has since been washed and trimmed. "You should hear some of the things people across Thedas say about me. Some of it's good. Some of it isn't. And some of it's downright laughable." His eyes close with comfort, and my hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "But I need you to do your best to take care of yourself. You will be ill for a while, and some days it will be hard."

Reginald nods, resigned but determined. "I know. The medics told me that."

"Cullen will be setting up a ward for treatment, for you and other former templars, in the castle very soon."

He looks up at me, eyes still a little wet and red, but his expression is wry. "You jumped right on that, taking care of me, didn't you?"

My eyebrows lift, and I gesture around the room. "I've brought you into the heart of the Inquisition. There are a lot of people out there who'd say I've done you no favors."

The question of Reginald's sleeping quarters is answered without much fuss. He prefers to be near me as much as he can, and I want to be near him. It suits us both, as I have the chance to actually make a dent in my correspondence, while he spends his days reading, receiving treatment, or walking around the keep. I'd expected Varric to keep an eye on him, and he's been good to his word. Iron Bull and Blackwall have taken quite a liking to him, appreciating his dry wit. Reginald even gets a laugh out of Cullen sometimes, and as the days pass, I can tell that Cullen enjoys having someone around who knows what it's been like, who's freed himself the hard way. I know it's helped Reginald to have that kind of kinship.

A few nights in, with the warm summer breeze trickling in through the windows and the rest of the castle turned down for the night, I lay awake, my naked back pressed up against his naked front. He's been getting stronger and stronger, and while we've not been physical for his sake, it's been enough to just lie with him, in his arms.

He shifts behind me a little, his hand sliding over my hip. "Can't you sleep?" he asks warmly, the question rumbled into my shoulder.

"Not really," I mutter, closing my eyes at the feel of his fingertips tracing over my thigh.

His lips press to the back of my neck. "Is anything the matter?"

A little thrilling ripple slithers down my spine, and my back arches just the tiniest bit. I don't want to make demands of him, but I've missed his touch. "Just some stupid matter with a few houses in Val Royeaux."

I swallow as I feel his hips press against my backside – he's hard and hot already. "Josephine will handle things," he whispers.

My mouth opens, but the words catch in my throat as I feel his teeth press to my shoulder and bite down, the hand on my hip hooking on it and pulling me back against him. "I'm sure everything will be fine," I breathe, closing my eyes. The hand on my hip slides up along my stomach to my breast, and he cups it, kneading it slowly while he releases me from his mouth to press another kiss to the nape of my neck. It makes me shudder and grip the top sheet, and I growl "You better be well enough for this, or I'll be so fucking angry with you for teasing me."

Reginald chuckles, and I recognize that tone. It makes me privately thrill all over again, even when he suddenly pulls away from me. "Well, perhaps you're right. I suppose I should get my rest."

I slap the sheets away, turning over to glare at him even as he grins rakishly. "You fucking piece of shit bastard templar, do you know who I _am_?" Even as I speak, I'm bristling with excitement, getting onto my hands and knees and looming over him.

His hands guide me to straddle his hips, his fingers gripping at the soft flesh of my waist. "You're hot as hell when you're pissed off," he purrs, and I gasp as he guides my hips down, so that my secret flesh grinds along the underside of his shaft, back and forth.

My head dips and I shudder, my fingers first gripping the sheet, then moving to brace on his shoulders. "I'll render judgment on you," I hiss, my eyes narrowed. I'm still glaring at him, even when he moves my hips, shifting me forward, then pulls me down, slowly, onto his thick cock. I was about to say something else, but my eyes squeeze shut and I groan. It's been a long time since I've been with anyone, and given how his hands clench and he shivers, I'd say it's been a long time for him, too.

Slowly I move, pinning his shoulders as I ride him lazily, curling my hips as it takes nearly a minute before I can sheathe him entirely. He's so handsome even now, his healing body edged in moonlight. The blankets puddle over my calves and his thighs, the mattress groaning just a little as I move on him. This feels so good and so right – nearly everything in my life has changed, but this blessed joy has stayed the same. I hadn't dared to hope for that. I sink down over him, my chest hovering over his, my hips still moving even as I kiss him deeply. His hand slides around to grip at my ass cheek and swat it, and I tense for a second, smiling against his lips.

Without warning, the room seems to spin as he rolls us over, and suddenly I'm on my back, my legs wrapped around his hips as he takes me without restraint. The bed frame creaks with every desperate thrust, and I shudder, lifting a hand to press against his chest. Concentrating, my fingertips glow softly blue, and he shivers, moaning as I use the slightest amount of magic to chill his skin with my touch, caressing along his chest. My other hand slips between us, and I warm up my fingertips similarly to hotly rub at myself in quick circles.

"I'm close!" I hiss, my toes curling.

"Me too!" he whines through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming harder, sharper impacts against my hips.

My heated fingers don't stop until I arch hard up beneath him, my hands suddenly gripping at him as I bury my face in his shoulder, letting his flesh muffle my cry. I can feel my body grip his and he groans, wrapping one arm around my lower back to hold me close to him while he plunges inside me for the last time, the other hand gripping at the sheet. His cock pulses, lodged as deeply inside as it can go. My hands, with one set of fingers chilly and the other hot, grip at his back tightly. I should probably consider the consequences of this, and I will pay them if they need to be paid, but for right now?

I can be a little selfish right now. Reginald was true to his word – he found me. After all this time, he found me.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

Cullen's clinic has become a great success. With the chantry's support, as well as the charitable work from several ex-templars wanting a more peaceful life, our clinic has helped many free themselves from the shackles of lyrium. The clinic in Redcliffe is enjoying similar success, and many of the rehabilitated men and women have chosen to help rebuild what's been lost, both in the Hinterlands and around Ferelden.

The re-establishment of the circles has been met with disapproval by some, but I've worked with Divine Victoria and Vivienne both to find a balance between proper safeguards to deal with abominations without making innocent, safe mages feel like prisoners. It helps many of them to know that I grew up in a circle, and that even heroes can arise from such origins. Programs have been put into place to allow mages the chance to sign up for mission work if they desire it, letting them travel and work outside the walls of their towers. After the mage rebellion, bearing witness to kind and helpful mages has helped the citizens of Thedas to accept the good side of magic again, at least a little.

Templars work in the circles and abroad, but the use of lyrium is minimal now, and completely optional. Even if a templar wishes to remain in the order, but divest himself or herself of their lyrium dependence, there are clinics being run in several locations now to help them with that. With these new freedoms on both sides, templars and mages are now free to fraternize, as Divine Victoria would put it. That was my influence, of course – such things happen anyway, and without so many restrictions on behavior, abuse is less likely to arise due to simple frustration, and will be more easily spotted. People are people, after all; feelings of love and desire aren't wrong, and if seeing such things helps foster greater understanding, then so be it.

That night, or perhaps one of the many following it, did have its consequences. Our child, a little boy, was born in the spring, to a world still healing. Reginald worked hard to be completely free of his addiction by the time Griffin was born, and he did it, clean ever since. Helping others be free has become Reginald's calling, though sometimes he accompanies me when I travel. Usually, though, he enjoys staying home to raise Griffin who now, at the age of five, is terribly interested in Solas's room. I'm not sure what that means for him, if he can sense the elvhen magic left behind there, or if he just enjoys the beautiful artwork, but I suppose we will see. I've had Skyhold declared a mage tower, if only to satisfy the chantry and to allow myself the freedom to work here, as well as any other mage who wants to. If Griffin does begin making his dolls dance, as I used to, he doesn't have to be sent away.

Now, maybe I should worry about how Morrigan's boy Kieran and Griffin seem to be attached at the hip whenever they come around to Skyhold for a visit.

That's not a problem though, is it? Probably not...


End file.
